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PAUL    FANE 


OK, 


PARTS    OF    A    LIFE    ELSE    UNTOLD. 


A    NOVEL. 


BY  N.    PARKER    WILLIS 


NEW    YORK: 

C.    SCRIBNER,    377    &    379    BROADWAY 

BOSTON  : 

A.  WILLIAMS  &  Co.,  100  WASHINGTON  STREET. 

LONDON :— SAMPSON  LOW,  SON  it  Co.,  LUDGATE  HILL. 

1867. 


ENTKRKD   according  t»   Act  of  Congress,  in  the   year  ISSti,  by 

CHARLES    SCRIBNER, 
In  the  Clark'i  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  tlw  United  States  for  the  Southern  District  of  New  York. 


v.  M.  curtail, 


iMJB  KVMU.L  A  CO.,  PKINTBB8. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

Paul's  Return  Home  from  a  Party — His  Secret  Admission  by  his  Mother — Their 
Habitual  Good-night— Exchange  of  Confidence— Description  of  his  Hidden 
Studio  in  the  Attic — Paul's  First  Reservation  of  Frankness,  etc.,  etc.,  .  9 

CHAPTER  II. 

Description  of  the  Party  at  the  Cleverlys— The  English  Travellers  for  whoso 
Entertainment  it  was  given — Miss  Ashly  consigned  by  the  Hostess  to  Paul's 
Attentions — His  Experiment  at  being  Agreeable  to  her — His  Impression  on 
being  treated,  for  the  First  Time  in  his  Life,  with  the  Scorn  of  Indiffer 
ence,  etc.,  etc.,  .  .  .  .  .  •  •  .  •  .  •  •  .18 

CHAPTER  III. 

Paul's  Meeting  with  Mary  Evenden,  the  Pastor's  Daughter,  the  next  day — De 
scription  of  the  Friendship  between  these  two — His  Difficulty  as  to  confessing 
to  her  his  real  Motive  for  the  newly  considered  Thought  of  going  Abroad— 
Mary's  disinterested  View  of  it,  and  Paul's  secret  Humiliation  at  her  Noble 
ness  of  Counsel,  etc.,  etc.,  .  .  .  .  .;•».•  •»  .22 

CHAPTER  IV, 

Change  of  Scene  to  Europe — Paul's  Meeting  with  his  College  Chum,  Blivins,  at 
Florence— Portrait  of  Wabosh  Blivins — History  of  their  College  Intimacy — 
Bosh's  Artistic  Experiences  in  the  West — The  Customers  for  Scripture  Sub 
jects,  etc.,  etc., 88 

CHAPTER    V. 

The  Studies  of  the  two  Friends  at  Florence,  and  their  Model  Giulietta — Their 
SuVijects  for  Pictures — Bosh's  continued  Confessions  of  Experience — His  Sit 
ter,  Deacon  Superior  Nash — Giulietta  and  her  Trade  as  a  Model — Discussion 
of  the  1'hilosophy  of  it,  etc.,  etc., 83 

ill 


405954 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

The  Afternoon  Siesta,  and  Advantage  taken  of  it  to  explain  why  Paul's  Profes 
sional  Labors  were  kept  Secret — Retrospective  Description  of  his  First  Arrival 
at  Paris— The  kind  Reception  of  him  by  the  American  Minister,  on  his  Pre 
sentation  of  a  Letter  from  Mrs.  Cleverly — Nominal  Appointment  as  Attache, 
and  his  Letter  to  his  Mother,  as  to  its  Advantages — The  First  Encounter  with 
Bosh  to  the  Cafe  at  Florence,  etc.,  etc., 46 

CHAPTER  VII. 

Evening  Parting  of  Paul  and  Bosh  for  their  different  Engagements — Paul's 

Drive  out  to  Casa  G ,  and  Description  of  its  Vineyards  and  Home-Scenes 

—Comparison  of  Advantages  of  Living  between  Italy  and  other  Countries- 
Colonel  Paleford,  and  Description  of  his  beautiful  Daughter,  etc.,  etc.,  .  57 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

Describing  the  Firkin  Family  of  Ohio,  in  their  Palace  at  Florence— Miss  'Phia 
Firkin  and  her  Adventures — Blivins's  Chivalry — Miss  'Phia's  Letter  to  her 
Schoolfellow,  Kitty  Kumletts  of  Alabama— Allusions  to  Lady  Highsnake, 
Baroness  Kulil,  Prince  Kickubrichinoff,  etc.,  etc 70 

CHAPTER  IX. 

A  Ball  at  the  Pitti  Palace— The  Grand  Duke's  Choice  of  a  Partner— The  Natural 
Sovereignty  of  Sybil  Paleford — The  Drama  of  a  Look — Fane  embarrassed  with 
the  Misunderstanding  of  his  Motives— His  Danger  of  a  New  Intimacy,  etc.  82 

CHAPTER  X. 

A  Sunrise  Breakfast-Party  after    a   Ball— Portrait    of   a  very  distinguisned 

Woman — The  Princess  C 's  Pleasure-Villa  near  Florence — Breakfast-Room 

half  out  of  doors — Paul's  Ramble  with  his  Hostess — Conversation  as  to  the 
Love  of  Men  of  Genius — Fashionable  Insensibility  to  Intellectual  Aristocracy 
of  Friendship,  etc.,  etc.,  etc., 94 

CHAPTER   XI. 

An  Artist-Morning  of  Italy— Paul's  Pencil  called  to  correct  the  confused  Pic 
tures  of  Memory — The  Three  Crayon  Heads — The  Background  of  Thought,  as 
he  drew — His  Embarrassments  as  to  Conduct — Letter  to  Colonel  Paleford — 
Test  of  a  Critical  Question— Avowal  of  a  Secret— Change  produced  in  Beauty 
by  Change  of  Manner  and  Toilette — New  Perplexity,  etc.,  etc.,  .  .  .  109 

CHAPTER   XII. 

Exciting  Event  at  the  Studio — Preparations  by  Blivins  for  a  Sitter — Mrs.  Fir 
kin's  Dismay  at  an  Artistic  Surprise— Discussion  of  how  Miss  Firkin  was  to  be 
Painted — Her  Nervousness  as  to  her  particular  Beauty — Letter  to  Miss  Kitty 
Kumletts— An  offer  Diplomatically  made— Philosophy  of  Ladies'  Figures, 
etc.,  etc., 122 


CONTENTS.  V 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

The  Artist-Easel  for  once  neglected — Waiting  for  the  Princess's  Britzka — Drive 
to  the  Mysterious  Studio — Self-reproaches — Startling  Discovery — Criticism  of 
a  Flying  Daphne — Beauty  of  the  two  Sexes — Sleeping  Antinous — Likeness 
breathing  through  the  Statue  of  Herrnione — Work  and  Speculation  over  the 
Clay  Figure— Tete-a-Tete  Dinner  at  the  Villa  G ,  etc.,  etc.,  .  .  .135 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

A  Dilemma— Simple  Request  interfering  with  a  Secret  Vow— Description  of 
Fane's  Friend  Tetherly — His  Terrier  "  You-Sir" — Dog-supply  to  Conversation 
— Expression  of  Privacy  in  Manners  and  Countenance — Philosophy  of  Intro 
ductions — Tetherly's  Offer  of  Relief  to  Paul's  Embarrassment,  etc.,  etc.,  .  149 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Double  Ministration  of  a  Letter — Stranger's  Necessity  of  a  Heart-Home — Pas 
sages  of  Mother's  Advice — Stroll  by  Starlight  to  a  Soiree — Recognition  of  a 
Stranger  by  Resemblance — Awkward  Introduction — Embarrassment  covered 
by  a  Waltz — Tetherly's  Mystification — The  Baronet  and  his  Jealous  Preju 
dices,  etc.,  etc., 163 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

A  Birth-Day  Breakfast  Party— Cafe  Appointment  with  a  Friend— Tetherly's 
Secret  Commission — Unconfessed  Object  in  a  Duel — Philosophy  of  Instinctive 
Tribunal  of  one  Man  over  another — Charm  of  Sadness  for  Woman— Paul's 
Second  Meeting  with  Mr.  Ashly — Common  Level  of  a  Lady's  Favor — Distin 
guished  Party  without  Cost — Splendor  of  Nature  beyond  Art — Paul's  New 
Temptation  and  Trial,  etc.,  etc., 176 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

Continuance  of  Birth-Day  Breakfast-Party — Style  and  Pleasure  without  Expense 
— Paul's  Secret  Motive— Change  of  Place  of  Entertainment — Necessary  Con 
tact  with  his  Rival  and  its  Result — Phantom  Question  Answered — Its  Electric 
Effect — A  Heart  won  for  Resentment — Apparent  High  Spirits  and  Attractive 
ness  strangely  produced — Confidential  Look  at  Birth-Day  Presents — Myste 
rious  Late  Arrival  of  One — Portrait  without  a  Sitting— Startling  Revolution 
in  Paul's  Secret  Feeling— Contradictory  Recognition  of  Inner  Nature,  etc.,  189 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

Bosh  and  his  two-fold  October — Paul's  apparent  Inconstancy — The  Princess  and 
her  Privacy  as  a  Sculptress — Friendship  without  Love — Paul's  Letter  to  his 
Mother  and  a  Startling  Confession — Bosh  made  Happy  again — Miss  'Phia  and 
her  Secret— Doubts  as  to  the  Sex  of  "Signor  Valerio,"  etc.,  etc.,  .  .  204 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

Search  for  the  unknown  Artis*—  New  Sitter  arriving  from  England — Seizing  of 
Opportunity  for  an  Adventure — Adoption  of  Fictitious  Name — First  Call  on 
the  Stranger — The  renewed  Spell  of  a  Look — Commencement  of  a  Portrait — 
Paralysed  Powers  of  Genius — Confirmation  of  dreaded  Disparagement— In 
tention  to  Abandon  the  Task,  interrupted  by  strange  Face  in  a  Mirror — Reve 
lation  through  Music — New  Inspiration  and  fresh  Beginning,  etc.,  etc.,  .  217 

CHAPTER    XX. 

Philosophy  of  Sitting  for  Portrait — Painter  studied  In  his  Turn — Inner  and 
outer  Character — Influences  that  form  Expression  and  Manners— Self-Recog 
nition  in  a  Likeness — Miss  Ashly's  Introduction  to  herself — Music  and  its 
Revelations — Danger  to  Paul's  Incognito — Departure  of  Miss  Ashly  for  Rome 
— Letter  confessing  a  Secret,  etc.,  etc.,  .......  229 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

Dilemma  of  a  mis-sent  Love-Letter—Surprise  while  tete-a-tete  with  a  Portrait- 
fastidious  Fancy  taken  with  a  Picture— Discussion  of  Expression — Reply  to 
an  Offer  —  Suggestion  of  another  Choice  —  Proposal  of  apparently  Chance 
Introduction — Philosophy  of  previous  Passions,  etc.,  etc.,  .  .  .  242 

CHAPTER  XXII. 

A  Morning  in  the  Princess's  Studio— Paul  with  a  Secret  or  two  to  Unburden— 
Approaches  to  the  Subject— Purity,  with  Fun  and  Playfulness — Promised  Ar 
rival  of  a  Loved  One — Letter  from  a  Dying  Mother — Offer  of  the  Love  of  a 
Daughter — Qualities  in  a  Husband  to  make  a  Wife  Happy— Considerations 
above  "Wealth — Letter  from  Paul's  Mother — Anticipations  of  Mary  Evenden's 
coming  to  Florence — Embarrassments  as  to  Conduct,  etc.,  etc.,  .  .  249 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 

Impossibility  of  representing  the  Character  fully  in  a  Portrait— Chance  of  Dis 
appointment  in  Marriage — Sympathy  demanded  by  an  intellectual  Nature — 
Horror  of  a  mercenary  Match,  creating  an  Antagonism — Paul's  Confession — 
Charm  of  an  intellectual  Love — Skepticism  of  the  Truth  of  a  Romance — Men 
of  Genius  better  without  Love — Friendships  more  needed — The  Princess's 
Suggestion  to  relieve  Paul  from  his  Embarrassment,  etc.,  etc.,  .  .  .  26C 

CHAPTER   XXIY. 

Arrival  of  Mary  Evenden  in  Florence — Astonishment  of  Paul  at  the  Arrival  of 
another  Lady  in  her  Company — Unexpected  Turn  of  Conversation  at  Break 
fast-Table — Criticism  of  one  of  Paul's  Drawings — Sudden  Sympathy  between 
the  Artist  and  Miss  Ashly — New  Thought  suggested  by  a  Miniature — Walk  In 
the  Ducal  Gardens  with  Mary  alone — Restraint  over  their  Intercourse,  .  271 


CONTEXTS.  rii 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

Tea-Table  Gathering,  Preparatory  to  a  Court-Reception  and  Ball — Effect  of  a 
Mourner's  Dress  and  Expression  on  a  Gay  Party— Unbecomingness  of  ill- 
suited  Adornments— Friendly  Exercise  of  Woman's  Skill  in  Policy— Curious 
Resemblance  of  two  Extremes  of  Character — Opening  of  a  New  Life  to  Mary 
Evenden— Presentation  at  Court— Considerate  Management  by  the  Princess- 
Renewal  of  Paul's  Secret  Experiment,  etc.,  etc., 285 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

Curiosity  as  to  the  unknown  Artist— Accidental  Oil  upon  a  Wound— Whether 
the  Quality  of  a  Man  is  recognized  in  Society — Approach  to  a  delicate  Sub 
ject — Paul  once  more  beforehand  in  a  Secret — Confession  of  a  hidden  Motive 
—Glowing  Tribute  of  one  Woman  to  another— Discussion  of  Probabilities  of 
Happiness  in  a  Love— Miss  Ashly's  Excuse  to  herself  for  confiding  in  Paul- 
Mary  Evenden  and  the  Princess,  etc.,  etc.,' 296 

CHAPTER   XXVII. 

Temporary  Lull  of  Events — Step  taken  to  escape  oppressive  Thoughts — Unex 
pected  Meeting,  on  the  Way  to  an  artistic  Appointment— Important  Tete-a- 
Tete  in  the  Aisles  of  the  Cathedral— Strange  Communication  from  the  Princess 
— Freedom  from  Embarrassment  as  to  Choice — Analysis  of  one  Female  Heart 
by  another — Theory  of  Exemption  from  Love— Sympathy  with  the  Unloving — 
Love-Vigil  over  a  dormant  Heart,  etc.,  etc.,  ••....  807 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

Secret  still  kept — Arrangements  for  the  "sitting"  of  Casa  G Paul's  Con 
scious  Disabling  by  Illness— Miss  Ashly's  Surprise  at  the  Discovery  of  the 
Artist— Production  of  the  Rival's  Portrait— Sybil's  new  Impression  of  Mr. 
Ashly's  Face — Paul's  Strength  failing  him  with  the  Effort  to  commence  his 
Work — Waking  from  Faintness — A  Kiss  upon  closed  Eyes,  etc.,  etc.,  .  319 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 

Doubts  as  to  what  had  become  of  Miss  Winifred  Ashly — Sudden  News — Letter 
of  curious  Confessions — Proposal  of  a  Love-Match  Unexpected — Significant 
Commission  given  to  Paul,  etc.,  etc., 329 

CHAPTER   XXX. 

Success  of  Paul's  delicate  Commission— Difficulty  of  painting  with  too  many 
Eyes  on  the  Painter — Use  of  a  Friend  to  divide  a  Focus — Two  kinds  of  Por 
trait—Chance  Alteration  of  the  Expression  of  a  Sitter's  Countenance — Be 
trayal  of  a  Secret  by  a  supposed  Illness — Coming  Round  of  an  Era  in  Paul's 
Career — Confidential  Tete-a-Tete  with  Miss  Mildred — Paul's  Letter  to  Colonel 
Paleford,  etc.,  etc., 335 


viii  CONTEXTS. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

Paul's  Leave-Takings—Miss  Ashly  seeing  the  Last  of  the  Tetherlys  and  being 
the  Bearer  of  a  Letter — Avoidance  of  an  expected  Adieu — Reply  from  Colonel 
Paleford — Start  on  the  Journey  to  London— A  Father's  Choice  for  his  Daugh 
ter — His  frank  Estimate  of  her  Lovers  and  Chances  for  Happiness,  etc.,  .  852 

CHAPTER    XXXII. 

Paul  waiting  for  a  Sitter— Reading  a  forgotten  Letter — 'Phia  Firkin's  Account 
of  her  Marriage— Her  Comparison  of  Paul  and  her  Bridegroom,  Blivins — Men 
to  Admire,  and  Men  to  Marry — Mrs.  Blivins'  Guess  as  to  Mary  Evenden — Her 
Opinion  of  foreign  Appreciation  of  Women  as  contrasted  with  American — 
Mrs.  Tetherly  and  her  Strange  Proposition— Miss  Ashly  at  Raven  Park,  .  357 

CHAPTER    XXXIII. 

Paul's  Visit  with  the  Tetherlys  to  Raven  Pat  k— The  Meeting  with  Miss  Ashly  and 
her  Relatives— The  chance  Neighborhood  at  Dinner,  and  Difficulty  of  Position 
— A  sudden  Arrival  and  Surprise— The  exclusive  Secret  between  Paul  and 
the  Bride — His  tumultuous  Thoughts  before  meeting  her— Interval  of  Thought 
upon  the  Piazza — View  of  the  Bride  through  a  Window — Description  of  her — 
Chance  Meeting  in  the  Moonlight — Madness-music — Sudden  Departure,  .  867 

CHAPTER   XXXIV. 

Paul's  proposed  Return  to  America — A  Letter  of  Adieu  from  the  Princess — Mrs. 
Cleverly's  Proposal,  etc.,  etc., 886 

CHAPTER   XXXV. 

Paul's  waiting  in  London  for  Mrs.  Cleverly  and  Mary  Evenden — His  shutting 
out  the  Fog  of  Daylight  in  England  and  lighting  his  Candles  for  a  Letter  to 
his  Mother — Opening  of  his  Heart  to  her — Philosophy  of  his  Desire  for  his 
native  Country  again — Glance  at  his  Loves  since  he  had  been  gone — Farewell 
of  the  Tetherlys,  Voyage,  and  Conclusion, 393 


PAUL     EAIE. 


CHAPTER    I. 

IT  was  getting  toward  "  the  small  hours"  of  a  summer's 
night  in  1830,  when  Paul  Fane  tapped  at  the  closely  shut 
tered  window  of  the  house  which  had  always  been  his 
home.  The  family  prayers,  invariable  at  nine  o'clock, 
were  long  over,  and  at  the  front  door,  inexorably  locked  at 
ten,  the  truant  son  now  stood — excluded  for  the  night  by 
the  stern  father  whose  hand  had  turned  the  key,  but  know 
ing  well  t^at  sleepless  eyes  were  watching  for  him,  and  lips 
whose  good-night  blessing  and  kiss  would  await  him,  even 
till  morning. 

Softly  and  noiselessly  the  door  opened.  The  admitted 
moonlight  shone  for  a  moment  upon  the  placid  features  or 
the  mother,  and,  as  the  door  closed  again,  and  left  the 
unlighted  staircase  in  darkness,  Paul  passed  on  without 
speaking;  for  their  customary  good-night  was  a  half  hour 

1* 


10  PAULFANE. 

or  more  in  his  far-up  study  in  the  attic — where  their  voices 
would  be  unheard,  and  where  the  son's  history  of  his  day, 
and  the  mother's  tender  sympathy  and  counsel,  could  be 
freely  exchanged.  To  learn  by  heart  each  leaf  of  her 
boy's  mind,  as  it  was  written  and  turned  over,  was  the 
indispensable  happiness  of  each  day  to  that  friend-mother. 
The  small  room  in  the  attic  story,  with  its  one  gable 
window  to  the  north,  had,  for  years,  been  allowed  to  Paul 
for  his  nominal  study ;  and,  as  it  contained  no  bed,  and 
there  was  no  excuse  for  intrusion  of  servant  or  other  per 
son,  it  was  reasonable  for  him  to  keep  the  key,  and  preserve 
it  sacred  to  the  sole  use  and  knowledge  of  his  mother  and 
himself.  The  main  secret  it  was  thus  enabled  to  cover,  was 
told  by  the  pallet  and  easel  on  which  the  lighted  lamp 
now  threw  its  pale  lustre,  by  the  canvas-frames  turned  with 
their  faces  to  the  wall,  and  by  the  engravings,  studies,  and 
sketches  with  which  the  sloped  ceiling  was  irregularly 
covered.  Paul  had  an  unconquerable  passion  for  Art,  and 
his  every  leisure  hour  was  spent  in  the  endeavor  to  make 
skill  of  hand  keep  pace  with  his  maturing  taste  and  know 
ledge  ;  and  the  necessity  to  conceal  this,  was  in  the  com 
plete  disapproval,  by  his  father,  of  "  any  such  unprofitable 
mode  of  life" — a  disapproval  he  had  expressed  so  harshly, 
at  the  first  efforts  of  the  boy's  pencil,  that  it  was  evidently 
a  choice  between  concealment  and  an  open  opposition,  of 
which  the  mother  well  knew  the  consequences.  The  col- 


PAUL     FANE.  11 

lege  education  of  her  boy  depended  on  the  possibility,  to 
the  father's  mind,  that  he  would  be  a  preacher  of  the  Gos 
pel  ;  and  with  even  the  probability  of  this  removed  by  any 
avowed  determination  to  become  an  artist,  the  inevitable 
result  would  be  an  apprenticeship  at  once  to  business.  To 
the  view  of  the  stern  and  orthodox  hardware  merchant, 
the  profession  of  an  artist  was,  in  the  first  place,  learned 
by  studies  verging  on  immorality,  and,  in  the  next  place,  it 
was  one  of  small  and  uncertain  profit.  His  decision  on 
such  a  point,  if  left  passive,  would  simply  be  never  modi 
fied  nor  reversed — if  made  active,  by  argument  or  open 
disregard,  would  be  aggravated  to  extremities.  And  thus 
had  been  made  necessary,  to  the  mind  of  Mrs.  Fane,  a  sys 
tem  of  concealment  hitherto  practised  with  success,  and 
by  which  her  boy  had  followed  the  usual  course  of  educa 
tion  openly,  but  with  a  twin  pursuit  of  the  study  of  Art 
in  secret. 

The  lamp  was  arranged  with  its  shade,  for  the  hour 
or  two  of  reading  which  it  helped  to  borrow  from  the 
night,  and  Paul,  closing  the  door  and  receiving  then 
his  mother's  kiss  of  welcome,  sat  down  to  his  confes 
sional  of  love.  With  her  hand  clasped  in  his,  he  made 
the  tender  inquiries  as  to  her  own  passing  of  the  time, 
her  spirits  for  the  evening,  her  visitors  and  her  books, 
and  then  went  on  to  tell  her  of  his  engagements  for  the 
day,  its  occurrences,  etc.  He  had  come  last  from  a  gay 


12  PAUL-   FANE. 

party  at  the  Cleverlys,  given  to  some  strangers  who  had 
brought  letters  to  them  as  bankers ;  and  of  these  and 
of  his  acquaintances  who  were  present,  lie  gave  sketches 
with  his  usual  graphic  power,  and  of  the  festivities  and 
what  he  had  seen  ludicrous  or  beautiful.  The  town 
clock  struck  one,  as  he  came  to  a  pause  in  his  descrip 
tions  ;  and  his  startled  mother,  rising  and  taking  his 
forehead  between  her  hands,  impressed  a  good-night  kiss 
upon  it,  with  a  murmured  "  God  bless  you,"  reminded 
him  of  his  need  of  rest,  and  passed  out  at  the  noiselessly 
opened  door.  But  there  was  a  door  shut  upon  her,  at 
that  same  moment,  which  she  knew  not  of — a  withheld 
confidence  in  her  son's  heart — the  first  thought  that  had 
ever  faltered  before  her  searching  eyes,  but  which  had 
just  now  been  refused  utterance  at  his  lips,  though  he 
scarce  knew  why — and,  to  a  far-reaching  turn  of  his  life, 
and  to  much  that  by  even  his  mother  was  never  wholly 
understood,  and  by  others  wholly  misinterpreted,  that 
unvoiced  emotion  was  the  key. 


C  H  AFTER    II. 

THE  Cleverlys'  was  the  house,  on  his  visiting  list, 
where  Paul  was  most  at  home.  Phil.  Cleverly,  the 
eldest  son,  was  a  college  friend  and  intimate  ally.  An 
introduction  to  the  strangers  for  whom  the  party  had 
been  made,  that  evening,  and  of  the  cordial  kind  which 
would  ensure  full  attention,  would  be  a  matter  of  course ; 
and  it  was  with  curiosity  on  the  alert  and  his  best  man 
ners  in  readiness,  that  Paul  walked  through  the  rooms 
with  his  friend's  mother  leaning  on  his  arm,  and  awaited 
the  opportunity  to  be  presented. 

A  visit  to  their  friends  who  were  in  office  in  Canada 
had  brought  the  family  of  Ashlys  across  the  water.  They 
were  prolonging  their  trip  by  a  look  at  "  the  States," 
and  were  to  be  out  of  England  only  for  the  summer.  It 
was  understood  that,  though  the  gentleman  was  simple 
Mr.  Ashly,  he  was  of  that  class  of  ancient  families  who 
would  be  demeaned  by  accepting  a  title — the  wealth  and 
gentle  blood  having  been  longer  in  the  line  of  their 

18 


14  P  A  U  L       F  A  N  E  . 

descent  than  in  that  of  most  of  the  present  nobility. 
His  letters  had  introduced  him,  of  course,  to  the  prin 
cipal  official  persons  in  the  different  cities,  and  a  knot 
of  Boston  gentlemen  of  whom  something  specific  could 
thus  be  said,  were  now  gathered  around  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Ashly,  exchanging  with  them  the  civilities  of  new  ac 
quaintance. 

But  there  was  a  Miss  Ashly — a  young  lady  apparent 
ly  of  nineteen  or  twenty  —  who,  leaving  the  party  of 
dignitaries  around  her  father  and  mother,  had  strolled 
off  to  the  conservatory  at  the  end  of  the  long  suite  of 
apartments,  and  stood  in  the  dimmer  light  of  its  fragrant 
atmosphere,  examining  one  among  the  multitude  of  exotics 
there  in  bloom.  She  was  of  slight  and  graceful  figure, 
rather  tall,  and,  except  that  she  was  particularly  quiet 
and  deliberate  in  her  movements — walking  and  looking, 
indeed,  as  if  she  felt  entirely  alone  in  the  room — Paul 
saw  nothing  to  distinguish  her,  at  the  first  glance. 

The  opportunity  to  present  her  young  friend  was  seen  at 
once  by  Mrs.  Cleverly* 

"  Miss  Ashly !"  she  said,  approaching  her,  and  phrasing 
her  introduction  with  a  demolition  of  ceremony  at  which 
sho  was  usually  very  successful,  "  this  young  gentleman 
(allow  me  to  present  him  to  you  —  Mr.  Fane),  is  our 
walking  dictionary  of  beautiful  things,  and  will  tell  you 
the  names  of  any  flowers  you  may  not  recognise." 


PAUL     FANE.  15 

Miss  Ashly  bowed  very  quietly. 

"  Will  you  excuse  me,"  continued  Mrs.  Cleverly,  "  if  I 
commission  him  to  do  the  honors  of  my  conservatory, 
while  I  look  up  some  music  for  my  other  guests  ?  Paul ! 
you  will  not  forget  to  show  Miss  Ashly  my  new  South 
American  plant,  farther  on." 

And,  with  this  groundwork  of  conversation  provided, 
left  quite  alone  with  the  fair  stranger,  his  presentment 
flattering,  and  the  surroundings  particularly  inspiring  and 
beautiful,  Paul's  task  of  making  himself  agreeable  seemed 
not  very  difficult. 

The  history  of  the  plant  in  question  was  very  smoothly 
entered  upon.  Miss  Ashly  followed  to  the  vase  over  whose 
lip  it  threw  its  flowers,  heavy  and  gorgeous,  and  they 
examined  together  the  encouragement  to  luxury  which 
Nature  seemed  to  give  in  so  mere  a  prodigality  of  beauty. 
The  transition  from  this  to  other  topics  was  easy ;  for  Paul 
was,  of  course,  at  home,  as  to  the  associations  around 
them,  and  the  young  lady  was  too  thoroughly  at  home  in 
her  own  self-possession  to  have  an  awkwardness,  either 
from  silence  or  abruptness,  any  way  probable.  They 
talked  away,  for  a  half  hour,  in  the  conservatory,  apparent 
ly  as  any  other  two  people  might — and,  to  her,  if  she  had 
thought  about  it  at  all,  exactly  as  any  two  indifferent 
strangers,  who  were  pretty  sure  never  to  meet  again,  were 
"ikely  to  do. 


16  PAUL     FANE. 

"  Mildred,  my  dear !"  said  a  voice  from  the  other  room 
— Mr.  Ashly  the  next  moment  appearing  and  beckoning 
to  his  daughter. 

She  half  turned  to  Paul,  after  a  step  toward  her  father, 
as  if  she  had  nearly  forgotten  even  to  take  leave  of  her 
new  acquaintance,  thus  ending  an  interview  that  was  to 
change  the  whole  current  of  life,  for  him,  while,  for  her,  it 
was  but  the  touch  of  the  swallow's  wing  to  the  calm  sur 
face  of  the  lake. 

The  summons,  by  Mr.  Ashly,  was  to  some  music  in  the 
reception-room,  which  was  promised  to  be  worth  the  hear 
ing — but  Paul  turned  back  into  the  conservatory,  and,  fol 
lowing  the  marble  floor  to  the  balcony  at  the  end,  stepped 
out  into  the  moonlight.  There  was  a  new,  strange  feeling 
in  his  bosom,  with  which  he  wished  to  be  alone. 

He  began  by  shutting  out,  with  a  half-conscious  resent 
ment  of  thought,  the  accustomed  softness  of  the  summer 
night — out  of  harmony,  somehow,  for  once — and  then  pro 
ceeded  to  call  the  last  half  hour  rigidly  to  account. 

It  was  not  her  beauty ;  he  knew  a  hundred  women  more 
beautiful.  Her  features  were  even  plain,  as  he  came  to 
recall  them.  Was  there  any  especial  grace  or  queenliness 
in  her  manner  ?  No ;  she  was  quite  inelegant,  he  thought, 
in  the  management  of  her  hands ;  and,  with  that  forward 
bend  of  her  neck  and  half  neglectful  indolence  of  gait,  her 
impression  upon  most  persons  would  be  anything  but 


PAUL     FANE.  17 

imposing.  The  large  grey  eye — it  was  fine,  certainly,  with 
its  motionless  cloud  of  dark  uplifted  lashes  that  seemed 
never  to  close,  but — 

Paul  tightened  his  lips,  and  concentrated  mind  and 
memory  on  that  feature  of  Miss  Ashly's. 

Yes !  something  had  flashed  upon  his  consciousness 

as  that  cold  grey  eye  rested  on  his  face — a  something  that 
had  never  fallen  on  him  from  a  human  look  before — yet  so 
evasive  and  unreal,  though  his  whole  soul  was  up  in  arms 
with  it,  that,  with  all  his  effort,  he  could  neither  define  nor 
confront  it.  She  had  become  a  creature  of  intense  interest 
to  him,  but  it  was  no  beginning,  ever  so  remote,  of  a  pas 
sion.  There  was  more  distaste  than  love  in  his  sentiment 
towards  her.  Yet  to  know  her  better — to  understand  that 
look,  and  find  the  plummet  that  would  sound  the  depths  to 
which  it  had  reached — this  seemed  now  the  troubled  fever, 
before  the  sudden  thirst  of  which  all  other  feelings  were 
inexplicably  swept  away. 

Unfitted  for  the  gayety  within,  and  unwilling  to  see  any 
one  with  whom  he  must  exchange  indifferent  words  that 
night,  Paul  stepped  from  the  balcony  into  the  garden 
below,  and  without  taking  leave  of  his  friends,  made  his 
way  homeward. 

The  usual  happiness  of  a  talk  with  his  mother  had  a 
constraint  in  it  for  once,  as  has  been  already  described ; 
but,  that  over,  he  turned  his  key,  and,  with  the  new 


18  PAUL     FANE. 

thought  that  he  must  master  before  sleeping,  he  was  glad 
to  be  alone. 

To  those  who  have  not  looked  back  and  wondered  at 
the  intangible  slightness  of  first  motive,  and  who  have  not 
found,  by  trial,  how  impossible  it  is,  with  the  coarse  woof 
of  words,  to  portray  the  cobweb  thread  of  which  the  most 
enduring  motives  are  sometimes  woven,  it  will  be  difficult 
to  make  the  solution  of  the  mystery  thus  far  entangled, 
seem  at  all  satis'actory.  The  daylight  that  looked  in  upon 
Paul's  sleepless  eyes  the  next  morning,  however,  brought 
with  it,  for  him,  a  shape  and  semblance  for  his  new 
thought,  which,  though  he  still  wondered  at  its  power, 
was  sufficient  for  recognition,  and  future  analysis  and 
study  ;  and  of  this  we  may  give  a  hint  in  our  present 
chapter,  trusting  to  the  progress  of  our  stoiy  to  make  it 
clearer  as  we  go. 

The  life  of  our  hero,  hitherto,  had  been  passed  in  a 
circle  of  very  vague  social  distinctions.  With  a  personal 
presence  and  manners  better  than  his  family  circumstances, 
a  nature  of  large  hope  and  confidence,  and  unusually  quick 
tact  and  adaptability,  he  had  been  everywhere  an  unques 
tioned  favorite,  and  the  possibility  of  a  society  to  which  he 
should  not  be  promptly  welcomed,  or  in  which  he  might 
not  find  it  easy  to  please,  had  never  occurred  to  him.  With 
the  "  best  people,"  by  the  world's  estimate,  and  the  best  by 
the  preferences  of  his  own  taste,  equally  ready  to  sympa- 


PAULFAN-E.  19 

thize  with  and  esteem  him,  the  thought  of  levels  of  life 
unattainable — human  passions  out  of  reach  of 'his  awak 
ening  and  sharing — was  as  distant  as  the  thought  of  an 
angel  society  for  which  he  needed  the  aristocracy  of  wings. 
To  his  main  ambition,  the  Art  in  which  he  determined  to 
be  a  master  (and  of  his  career  in  which,  this  story,  be  it 
understood,  traces  only  a  side-current,  else  unexplained),  the 
broad  channel  of  his  mind,  till  now,  had  been  left  clear 
«nd  open. 

But  now  had  been  first  felt  the  new  impulse  to  the  tide 
through  heart  and  brain.  Without  insult — without  con 
tempt — without  intended  slight — that  cold  gray  eye  had 
passed  over  his  face  with  no  recognition  of  him  as  an  equal. 
It  was  the  first  human  look  (and  from  a  woman  too !)  in 
which  that  indefinable  acknowledgment — that  vague  some 
thing  as  habitually  expected  as  heat  with  sunshine,  and  as 
unthought  of  separately  till  held  back — had  been  ever 
wanting.  It  WHS  not  resentment  he  felt,  for  she  was  a 
passing  stranger,  whom  he  had  only  thought  to  amuse  for 
the  half  hour,  and  whom  there  was  no  probability  of  his 
ever  meeting  again.  It  was  not  his  pride  that  was  wound 
ed  (now  that  he  thought  of  it — though  it  was  that  doubt 
less  which  had  at  first  so  wildly  taken  the  alarm),  for  his 
consciousness  of  superiority  in  undeveloped  genius — a  su 
periority  she  had  no  time  or  means  to  recognise — put  that 
sensitiveness  promptly  to  rest  It  was  quite  another  feeling 


20  P  A  U  L       F  A  N  E  . 

which  stood  fixed,  like  a  mountain-peak,  as  the  clouds  and 
darkness  of  the  storm  of  the  past  night  lied  before  the 
calm  light  of  the  morning. 

Was  he  of  coarser  clay  than  some  other  human  beings  ? 
Were  there  classes  on  this  planet  between  whom  and  him 
self,  by  better  blood  or  by  long-accumulating  culture  and 
refinements,  there  had  gradually  widened  a  chasm,  now, 
eyen  by  instinct  impassable  ?  Were  there  women  who,  under 
no  circumstances,  could  possibly  have  loved  him — men  who 
by  born  superiority  of  quality,  were  insurmountably  out 
of  reach  of  his  fellowship  and  friendship  ?  Had  he  lived 
a  blind  mole  in  his  home,  wholly  mistaken  in  his  estimates 
of  those  around  him — of  his  mother,  whom  he  had  believed 

K 

next  downward  from  an  angel,  and  of  one  other  (of  whom 
he  scarce  dared  trust  himself  to  think,  in  connection  with 
this  new  thought),  Mary,  his  genius  love,  his  mind-idol,  to 
whom,  besides  his  mother,  he  had  alone  breathed  of  his  in 
spirations  and  aspirations  hitherto  ? 

It  was  by  these  questions  that  he  felt  he  was  now  pos 
sessed.  The  thirst  to  know  his  relative  rank  of  nature — 
to  gauge  his  comparative  human  claim  to  respect  and  affec 
tion — to  measure  himself  by  his  own  jealous  standard,  with 
those  whom  he  should  find  first  in  the  world's  most  estab 
lished  appreciation — was  now  like  a  fever  in  his  blood. 
The  temptation  to  travel,  hitherto,  had  been  only  for  the 
artistic  errand  in  foreign  countries.  It  had  been  a  passive 


PA  u  L     F  A  N  E  .  21 

* 

day-dream  only.  He  had  looked  upon  it  as  a  pleasant 
probability,  but  a  pleasure  which  he  could  easily  defer  very 
long,  or  forego  altogether.  He  had  even  argued,  indeed, 
that  success  in  Art  would  be  prouder  and  worthier  if  won 
wholly  at  home — the  birth,  growth,  and  culture  of  what 
genius  he  might  have,  thus  made  American  only.  But 
travel  had  another  charm,  now.  A  closer  view  of  what 
was  rarest  and  proudest  in  older  countries  promised  some 
thing  beside  scholarship  in  Art.  All  was  confused  as  yet 
— his  whole  soul  troubled  and  perplexed  with  wants  and 
difficulties — but  high  above  all  his  weary  thoughts,  as  he 
flung  himself  on  his  bed,  after  looking  out  upon  the  sun 
rise  that  morning,  was  the  new  spell  of  that  golden  East — 
the  beckoning  finger  of  a  new  want  calling  him  irresistibly 
to  the  far  lands  that  lay  beyond. 


CHAPTER   III. 

IT  was  not  without  a  slight  heightening  of  color  that 
Paul  met  the  calm  eye  of  Mary  Evenden,  that  afternoon. 
She  sat  at  the  parsonage  window,  as  usual,  waiting  his 
coming,  and  wiling  the  time  with  her  drawing-book  and 
pencil,  and  his  first  impulse — her  hand  left  so  confidingly 
in  his,  while  he  seated  himself  at  her  side — was  to  avow 
that  he  had  something  critical  to  confess,  bespeaking,  how 
ever,  her  kind  suspension  of  judgment,  till  he  could  modify 
her  inevitable  first  impression. 

He  began  with  the  utterance  of  her  beautiful  name- 
hesitated — stammered.     No !    he   must  turn  his  thought 
over,  and  present  it  differently.     It  was,  somehow,  difficult 
to  find  words  in  which  what  he  had  to  say  would  seem 
worthy  to  follow  after  that  sainted  name — Mary ! 

As  he  looked  at  her  face  again,  it  occurred  to  him  that 
he  was  about  to  confess  to  at  least  a  curiosity  as  to 
whether  there  might  not  be  finer  clay  than  she — a  thirst 
t  know  whether  he  had  yet  seen  Nature's  best — herself 


PAUL     FANE.  23 

included  in  the  misgiving  disparagement  of  what  he  already 
knew. 

"  Get  bonnet  and  shawl,  and  come  out  for  a  walk,"  he 
abruptly  proposed,  after  a  moment  more  of  vain  entangle 
ment  and  hesitation,  "  my  thoughts  are  of  this  world,  and 
you  look  so  superfluously  good  in  this  religious  little  do- 
micil — come !" 

But  there  were  drawings  to  put  away,  and  it  would  be  a 
minute  or  two  before  she  would  rejoin  him  at  the  garden 
gate,  and  so  he  had  gained  a  breathing  time  to  put  his 
confused  thoughts  into  order. 

Mary  Evenden  stood  almost  in  the  relation  of  a  sister  to 
young  Fane ;  for,  by  her  own  dying  mother  she  had  been 
committed  to  his,  in  her  early  childhood — the  invalid  con 
dition  of  her  father's  health,  making  it  probable  at  the 
time,  that  she  would  soon  be  an  orphan.  The  good 
clergyman  had  lingered  on,  however,  though  his  complete 
absorption  in  the  overburdening  cares  of  his  profession 
made  Mrs.  Fane's  guardianship  over  the  daughter,  for 
some  years,  as  complete  as  if  the  orphanage  had  been 
entire.  The  separate  roof  which  each  child  called  a  home, 
was,  indeed,  the  only  reminder  that  they  were  not  children 
of  the  same  mother,  their  amusements  and  studies  having 
been  mingled  entirely,  up  to  Paul's  departure  for  college ; 
and  the  return  to  intimacy  in  his  vacations,  and  now  that 


24  PAULFANE. 

he  was  graduated,  being  as  simply  free  and  frank  as  if  the 
tie  of  blood  were  between  them. 

It  was  a  peculiar  friendship,  however.  Though  the  pos 
sibility  of  love  had  not  given  the  alarm  to  either  heart,  as 
yet,  and  no  word  or  look,  such  as  lovers  use,  had  startled 
or  embarrassed  them,  they  were  conscious  of  being  sacred 
ly  dear  to  each  other — the  link,  whatever  it  might  be,  all 
the  more  pure  and  precious  that  it  had  never  been  named 
nor  measured.  Paul  had  a  favorite  theory  of  two  or  more 
souls  inhabiting  one  body,  and  it  was  mainly  fed  and 
strengthened  by  the  perfectly  single-hearted  exclusiveness 
with  which  Mary  Evenden  maintained  a  recognition  only 
of  his  inner  nature — a  nature  which,  though  he  felt  con 
scious  it  was  his  truer  and  stronger  self,  was  not  at  all  seen 
into  by  many  who  knew  him  otherwise  well.  To  her  and 
to  his  mother  he  was  veritably  one  manner  of  man,  and  to 
his  common  acquaintances  he  was  just  as  veritably  another ; 
and  the  two,  separately  described,  would  hardly  have  been 
thought  reconcilable.  It  was  Paul's  riddle  of  human  na 
ture — not  that  he  was  in  any  way  contradictory  or  other 
than  single-minded  to  himself;  but  that,  with  daily  con 
duct  and  manners  as  studiously  truthful  and  natural  as  he 
could  jealously  and  almost  resentfully  make  them,  he  was 
to  different  eyes  still  so  different. 

There  was  no  denying,  Paul  confessed  himself  now,  how- 


PAUL    FANE.  25 

ever,  that  the  temptation  to  a  first  insincerity  was  very 
strong.  He  was  trying  the  strength  of  the  temptation 
with  rather  a  wilful  perversity,  when  Mary  stepped  from 
the  low  threshold  of  the  parsonage.  Why  tell  her  of  all 
the  motive  he  might  have  for  an  errand  to  foreign  lands  ? 

But  another  claim  for  his  new  problem  seemed  to  pre 
sent  itself  as  he  looked  upon  the  form  that  came  towards 
him. 

Paul  had  often  tried  in  vain  to  define  the  artistic  charm 
which .  there  lay  in  Mary  Evenden's  beauty.  Its  effect  fell 
upon  the  eye  only  in  surprises — revealable,  apparently,  only 
to  the  after  look,  when  common  standards  had  been  first 
put  aside — but  of  that  beauty,  it  now  seemed  to  him  that 
he  might  reasonably  wish  to  know  the  comparative  rarity 
and  value.  The  tempter  had  gone  down  into  the  unlighted 
corner  of  his  heart  for  the  apology  that  he  needed ! 

More  critically  than  ever  before,  he  studied  the  air  and 
movement  of  the  unconscious  girl  during  that  moment  of 
approach.  It  was  the  first  trial  of  the  new  assay  with 
which,  he  had  now  become  aware,  Nature's  coinage  must 
be  tested.  The  reading  of  the  clear  stamp  on  the  face  and 
form  before  him  was  easy.  He  knew  it  better  than  it  could 
ever  be  learned  by  another  eye.  But  there  were  standards 
of  which  his  imagination  was  tremblingly  foreshadowing 
the  demands  for  beauty  of  noble  presence.  Was  this  dif 
ferent  beauty  there  ?  The  simple  and  yet  faultless  pose  of 

2 


26  PAUL     FANE. 

her  neck,  assuming  nothing  and  yet  bearing  up  the  head 
with  such  tranquil  dignity — that  unalarmed  innocence  of 
open  eye — the  mist-like  abandonment  of  motion,  yet  every 
footfall  so  indefinably  modest — the  smile  that  was  not  reluc 
tant,  but  had  well  nigh  been  too  late  for  the  thought  by 
not  remembering  itself  as  of  any  value — form  and  limb  so 
luxuriantly  complete,  so  venturesomely  full,  yet  over  the 
fruitlike  ripeness  of  which  there  was  such  an  overrule  of  a 
consciousness  intellectual  only — the  white  dress  falling  so 
gracefully  from  her  tall  figure,  and  her  straw  hat  so  prim 
itively  plain,  and  the  massive  blonde  braid  wound  round 
from  either  temple  with  sculpture-like  severity  of  line — no 
ornament  save  the  half-blown  rose  whose  stem  was  slipped 
through  her  girdle — simple  Mary  Evenden — would  she  be 
thought  beautiful  in  a  palace  ? 

By  tacit  agreement,  the  topic  on  which  the  interest 
promised  to  be  unusual  was  let  alone  till  they  should  be 
off  sidewalks;  and  the  conversation  (with  no  knowledge 
on  Mary's  part,  of  anything  that  should  embarrass  it)  kept 
its  accustomed  easy  flow  for  some  time  after  reaching  the 
noble  shadows  of  the  Mall.  Easily  as  it  flowed,  it  was 
communing  of  which  Paul  did  not  yet  know  the  value. 
Her  habitual  happiness  was  to  mirror  his  inner  nature  ;  and 
their  intercourse,  long  and  well  as  they  had  known  each 
other,  was  the  exchange  of  thoughts  and  sympathies  on 
ground  only  where  he  was  earnest  and  gifted.  With  his 


PAUL     FANE.  27 

genius  strengthening  and  demanding,  each  day,  more  and 
more  recognition  and  encouragement,  her  eagerness  for 
exchange  with  the  pure  ore  of  his  mind  had  wonderfully 
aided  in  melting  out  and  coining  it ;  though,  so  ready  and 
instinctive  had  been  this  rare  and  precious  reciprocity,  that 
each  seemed  to  the  other  to  be  imparting  that  which  was 
easiest  and  most  natural.  Nor  was  Paul  aware,  either, 
that,  by  the  sufficing  of  Mary  Evenden  and  his  mother  for 
these  more  sacred  sympathies,  he  was  insensibly  keeping 
his  inner  nature  for  their  loving  and  sharing  only — the 
more  volatile  and  worldly  qualities  of  his  character  being, 
by  mere  rotation  of  mood,  the  change  of  weapons  and 
armor,  with  which  he  went  out  for  his  lighter  skirmishings 
with  the  world. 

As  Paul  coaxed  up  his  unwilling  confession  once  more 
to  the  light,  he  forgot  that  he  had  looked  at  the  matter 
only  from  his  somewhat  culprit  point  of  view.  To  Mary, 
his  proposition  to  go  abroad — particularly  if  he  should 
withhold  from  her  the  new  and  more  worldly  motive  which 
was  now  superadded  to  his  purposes  of  Art — would  be  but 
a  leaning  toward  the  bent  of  her  own  constant  counsel. 
He  had  his  other  advisers,  as  to  a  career  in  life,  and  they 
were  mostly  kind  friends  who  were  prepared  to  second 
their  views  by  holding  out  to  him  the  handles  of  opportu 
nity.  For  either  mercantile  or  professional  success,  indeed, 
nothing  seemed  wanting  but  his  acceptance  of  one  or  the 


28  PAUL    FANE. 

other  of  these  opportunities,  and  the  easy  use  of  his  evident 
tact  and  ability.  To  these  advisers,  of  course  (as  to  his 
father,  whose  friends  they  also  were),  his  devoted  applica 
tion  to  so  unprofitable  a  pursuit  as  the  pencil,  was  wholly 
unknown.  And  such  tempters  from  without  were  not 
likely  to  be  wholly  unlistened  to !  They  came  with  the 
sounding  trumpets  of  "Enterprise"  and  "Ambition,"  and 
they  had  pleaders  in  his  energetic  health,  his  strong  will, 
his  pride  of  manhood — one  other  pleader,  too,  in  the 
promise  of  an  earlier  competency  to  share  with  one  whom 
he  might  love. 

But  Mary's  unworldly  eye  saw  only  his  genius  for  Art. 
To  develop  his  intense  love  for  the  Beautiful,  seemed  to 
her  his  proper  destiny.  Better  a  more  slender  livelihood, 
the  daily  industry  of  which  should  ennoble  heart  and 
mind  (thought  Mary),  than  larger  wealth,  the  struggle  for 
the  acquisition  of  which  must  demean  the  intellect,  and 
leave  Nature's  best  gifts  without  culture.  Art,  to  her,  was 
a  lofty  walk  with  such  spirits  as  Raphael  for  guide  and 
company ;  and  all  other  successes  in  life  were,  to  those  of 
genius,  poor  and  secondary.  She  had  read  with  Paul,  on 
these  subjects  till  both  their  minds  were  artistic  in  taste 
and  enthusiasm.  Without  his  skill  of  hand ;  and  the  fine 
intuition  of  form  and  color,  which  constituted  his  pecu 
liarity  of  genius,  she  had  done  her  best  to  discipline  her 
judgment  by  assiduous  practice  in  drawing,  and  she  was, 


PAULFANE.  29 

at  least,  an  entire  appreciate?  of  what  he  did,  and  a  charm- 
incr  encourager  of  his  every  effort  and  victory. 

"  Well  3"  said  Mary,  looking  up  with  an  inquiring  smile, 
after  a  few  minutes  of  silence,  and  thus  reminding  Paul  of 
the  something  he  had  to  say. 

His  magnanimity  sprang  to  the  throne  with  a  bound,  at 
the  liberal  and  confiding  nobleness  of  that  look  and  smile. 
How  could  he  conceal  from  such  a  soul-mirror,  the  remotest 
impulse  of  so  important  a  step  ?  He  would  not ! 

"Mary,"  he  said,  "I  have  resolved,  at  last,  to  go  to 
Europe." 

She  started,  and  drew  his  arm  closer  to  her  side. 
"  But  that  is  not  all,"  he  continued.     "  I  wish  to  make  a 
fair  confession  to  you  of  all  the  mystery  of  this  new  deter 
mination — what  awoke  it,  and  what  is  involved  in  it." 

He  hesitated  a  moment,  and  Mary,  who  had  stopped  and 
resumed  her  walk,  took  the  opportunity  to  come  in  with 
what  she  thought  was  the  encouraging  word  critically 
needed  to  confirm  a  great  resolution. 

"The  very  sunshine  without  which  your  genius  must 
languish,  my  dear  Paul,"  she  said,  in  a  low,  strong,  steady 
tone.  "I  am  so  glad  you  give  up,  at  last,  that  misplaced 
Americanism  of  trying  to  be  an  artist  here.  You  need 
the  air  of  Italy — the  collision  with  other  schools  of 
sts— " 
;  But,  Mary— " 


30  P  A  U~L     F  A  K  1 . 

"  JSTo,  I  will  not  listen  to  any  qualification  of  so  good  a 
resolve !  Go,  my  dear  friend — go — " 

But  the  last  syllable  trembled  on  her  lip,  and  the  flecked 
light  through  the  overshadowing  elms  flashed  on  a  sudden 
brightness  in  the  large  blue  eye  of  which  he  half  caught  a 
glimpse  as  she  turned  away.  There  was  more  than  mere 
expediency  to  be  felt  and  thought  of,  in  the  discussion  of 
that  new  resolve ! 

But  a  familiar  call  suddenly  startled  them. 

"My  children !"  said  the  loving  voice  of  Mrs.  Fane,  who, 
as  they  walked  slowly  along  the  Mall,  had  entered  from  a 
side  street  and  overtaken  them,  "  shall  I  interrupt  your 
downcast  eyes  in  their  study  of  those  broken  shadows,  if  I 
take  Paul's  other  arm  ?  I  am  tired,  and  quite  need  its  kind 
support." 

And,  with  that  chance  interruption,  Paul's  confession 
sank  back  into  silence — to  be  resummoned  and  honestly 
achieved  to  the  satisfaction  of  his  conscience,  but  not  till 
days  had  elapsed,  and  not  till  the  life-long  passion  for  Art 
had  again  found  its  supremacy  and  become  the  absorbing 
and  main  interest  of  his  plans.  Strong  and  keen  motive  as 
his  new  pride- thirst  of  social  curiosity  still  continued  to  be, 
it  fell  to  its  secondary  and  subordinate  place ;  and,  when 
avowed  to  Mary,  it  seemed  to  her  but  a  side-interest  of 
travel,  incidental  to  his  youth  and  sex.  With  her  broad 
and  unselfish  appreciation,  the  new  knowledge  he  thus 


PAUL     FANE.  31 

wished  was  included  in  the  outline  of  Taste,  and  accredited 
to  the  larger  want  and  more  instinctive  completeness  of 
his  Nature.  Paul  had  his  misgiving  as  to  receiving  all  of 
this  generous  estimate.  But  he  marked  the  mental  reser 
vation  with  a  tear  of  grateful  tenderness  at  his  heart,  and  a 
prayer  for  strength  to  be  even  what  he  was  thought  to  be. 

The  addition,  to  their  company,  of  one  so  intimate  with 
both,  did  not  change  the  topic  that  afternoon.  With  the 
interrupted  confession  set  aside,  the  project  itself  of  foreign 
travel  was  at  once  imparted  to  the  loving  and  beloved 
mother.  She  received  it  sadly,  thoughtfully,  but  assent- 
ingly.  With  less  youthful  elasticity  of  hope  than  Mary, 
the  mournful  certainties  of  separation  and  dread  possibili 
ties  of  harm  and  unforeseen  trial  in  absence,  pressed  first  on 
her  busy  heart  and  brain. 

That  was  an  evening  crowded  with  the  undramatic  trials 
of  home  differences  of  opinion,  and  questions  of  means  and 
future  resources.  With  Mr.  Fane's  unwavering  justice  and 
truth,  his  severity  and  practical  angularity  of  judgment  had 
always  been  borne  with,  hitherto,  and  till  this  unexpected 
proposition,  by  his  son,  no  wish  or  decision  of  the  father 
had  ever  needed  to  be  openly  opposed.  By  this  calm  dis 
sent,  known  well  to  be  wholly  inflexible,  Paul's  future  sepa 
ration  of  interest  and  support  was  to  commence  with  his 
departure  from  the  paternal  roof.  This  was  expected  and 
unargued.  The  respectfully  dispassionate  expression,  by 


32  PAULFANE. 

Mrs.  Fane,  of  a  regret  at  his  difference  of  opinion,  softened 
his  departure  from  the  room  as  he  left  for  his  evening  walk, 
and  the  mother  and  son  together  once  more,  laid  their 
plans  for  the  future.  She  had,  happily,  a  small  income  of 
her  own,  which,  with  close  management  and  economy, 
might  suffice  for  his  mere  wants,  till  he  should  find  re 
sources  in  the  productions  of  his  genius,  and,  with  this 
assured,  the  new  path  might  at  least  be  entered  upon. 
It  was  a  late  hour  when  they  parted  that  night,  at  his 
study-door. 

And  with  these  moving-springs  of  our  hero's  character 
and  outset  placed  in  the  reader's  hand,  he  is  ready  for  the 
more  active  movement  of  our  story. 


8* 


CHAPTER  IV. 

INTENDING,  with  this  chapter,  to  have  taken  a  single 
flying  leap  to  the  fair  city  of  Florence,  and  there  (with 
the  omission  of  a  year  in  our  story)  to  commence  the  his 
tory  of  our  hero's  adventures  in  Europe,  we  found  a  diffi 
culty — unable  to  alight,  that  is  to  say  within  any  very 
close  neighborhood  of  Mr.  Paul  Fane,  at  Florence,  without 
jostling  a  gentleman,  who  was,  then  and  there,  the  sole 
sharer  of  the  secrets  of  his  domestic  life,  and  to  whose 
familiar  acquaintance  the  reader  would  thus  be  too  pre 
cipitately  introduced.  With  the  imagination  so  kindly 
intrusted  to  us  while  your  eye  rests  upon  this  page,  dear 
reader,  it  is  due,  by  the  courtesy  of  narrative,  that  we 
should  prepare  you  for  any  so  full-blown  intimacy  by  some 
little  confidential  "  aside." 

To  go  back  then,  for  a  little  personal  information  as  to 
the  history  of  the  gentleman  to  be  introduced  to  you. 

On  entering  college  (five  or  six  years  previous  to  pres 
ent  date)  Paul  had  obediently  taken  the  "room-mate" 


34  PAUL    FANE. 

assigned  to  him  by  "The  Faculty,"  and  had  thus  found 
himself  in  sudden  and  bivalve  familiarity  with  an  equally 
astonished  young  gentleman  from  Indiana.  As  a  means 
of  neutralizing  the  sectional  prejudices  with  which  the 
students  were  apt  to  get  clannish  and  hostile,  Freshmen 
from  opposite  parts  of  the  country  were  thus  coupled  as 
inmates. 

Mr.  Wabash  Blivins  was  a  "  hoosier  "  of  fifteen  years  of 
age,  whose  father  was  an  enterprising  captain  on  the  West 
ern  waters,  and  who  was  patriotically  named  after  the 
river  at  the  mouth  of  which  the  "  Star-spangled  Banner," 
his  father's  lumber-craft,  was  tied  up  (Mrs.  Blivins  being 
on  board)  to  have  him  born.  He  had  not  been  long  in 
college  before  his  overpowering  first  name  was  reduced  by 
his  classmates  to  the  affectionate  diminutive  of  "Bosh;" 
and  by  that  (like  the  sweet  iteration  in  "Will  Shak- 
speare,"  and  "  Ben  Jonson")  he  is  now  on  his  way  to  pos 
terity. 

With  "  Bosh  Blivins "  for  a  room-mate,  Paul  was  not, 
at  first,  very  particularly  pleased.  His  manners,  though 
based  on  heroic  principles,  were,  as  yet,  matters  of  very 
general  outline,  the  particulars  to  be  filled  in,  according  to 
individual  need  and  circumstances.  He  would  "  pitch 
into  "  any  Sophomore  who  tried  a  trick  upon  his  slenderer 
room-mate,  for  instance,  but  he  could  not  be  made  to  un 
derstand  the  relative  privacies  of  boots  and  hair-brushes. 


PAULFANE.  36 

Then  he  mortified  Paul,  in  their  daily  promenades  to  the 
Post-office,  by  his  hoosier  habit  of  resting-— squatting  flat 
upon  his  heels,  if  his  friend  stopped  to  speak  to  a  lady  or 
look  in  at  a  shop  window,  and  with  his  arms  hung  collaps- 
edly  over  his  knees,  sitting  motionless  in  this  Western 
attitude  of  repose,  till  called  to  go  on  again.  His  vital 
electricity,  also,  had  the  Western  peculiarity  of  becoming 
vocal  with  excitement.  In  his  backwoods'  early  education 
poetry  had  not?  chanced  to  fall  much  in  his  way,  and  now, 
as  he  sat  up  late  at  night,  very  much  worked  upon  by 
Byron  and  Tom  Moore,  his  various  utterances  of  emotion 
at  the  exciting  passages — whistling,  squealing,  howling,  or 
yelling,  according  to  the  sentiment  to  be  sympathized 
with — was  very  disturbing  to  Paul's  slumbers.  For  one 
of  these  hoosier  yells,  given  with  fearful  suddenness  at  an 
eloquent  climax  in  the  Tutor's  prayer,  during  a  period  of 
religious  excitement  in  the  college,  Bosh  was  threatened 
with  rustication. 

In  addition  to  point-blank  differences  of  habit  and  man 
ner  on  such  points,  the  Westerner  and  Down-Easter  were 
diametrically  opposite  in  some  qualities  of  character. 
Paul  was  an  absorbent — eager  only  to  receive  the  magnet 
ism  of  other  minds,  and  expressing  himself  always  with 
modest  deference ;  Blivins  was  a  demonstrative — eager 
only  to  impress,  and  saying  all  he  meant,  if  not  considera 
bly  more.  Then,  while  Paul  had  a  very  keen  sense  of  the 


36  PAULFANE. 

ludicrous,  habitually  moderating  his  own  language  and 
manners  by  his  knowledge  of  laugh-shot  distance,  Blivins 
was  sublimely  safe  among  his  superlatives,  and,  though 
ready  enough  for  broad  fun  when  explained  to  him,  wholly 
without  natural  recognition  of  that  element  in  the  intel 
lectual  atmosphere,  and  blissfully  unconscious  of  being  by 
any  possibility  in  danger  of  ridicule  himself. 

It  is  not  unlikely,  that,  in  the  very  contradiction  of  the  two 
characters,  lay  half  the  secret  of  the  friendship  that  soon 
grew  up  between  them ;  but  they  had  some  strong  quali 
ties  in  common,  besides,  and,  after  rooming  together  for 
the  Freshman  year,  they  were  more  than  content  to  send 
in  their  names  as  "  chums "  in  perpetuam.  And  so,  for 
Sophomore  year,  Fane  and  Blivins  hooked  arms  and  vicis 
situdes. 

But,  toward  the  end  of  this  second  year,  an  active  prin 
ciple  of  Blivins'  character  began  to  get  uneasy.  Stilted 
as  he  certainly  was  on  most  subjects,  he  had  the  most  flat 
footed  downrightness  of  perception  as  to  "what  would 
pay."  He  had  taken  a  cool  look  at  the  two  upper  classes 
of  students  in  their  third  and  fourth  years,  and  made  up 
his  mind  that  the  difference  between  them  and  him  wasn't 
quite  worth  waiting  so  long  for.  "  College  life  might  be 
very  well  for  slow  folks,  but  it  was  a  one-horse  affair,  and 
he  was  a  whole  team."  "  Sophomore,  perhaps — but  he  was 
seventeen  years  old,  and  had  cut  his  eye-teeth."  "  Latin 


PAULFANE.  37 

and  Greek  don't  sell."  "  Time  a  boy  like  him  was  making 
money."  And  with  deductions  like  these,  drawn  from  his 
long  arguments  with  Paul,  Blivins  brought  his  college  edu 
cation  to  a  close  with  the  end  of  the  Sophomore  year,  and 
was  off  for  what  he  called  a  "faster  place,"  his  native 
Indiana. 

With  no  capital  except  sanguine  for  one,  Bosh's  first 
pick  of  customers  for  his  imaginative  goods  was  of  course 
somewhat  experimental,  and,  after  various  unsuccessful 
trials  of  the  different  professions,  he  found  himself,  in  the 
second  year  after  parting  with  Paul,  profiting  by  some 
taste  he  had  caught,  and  some  little  instructions  he  had 
received  from  his  room-mate  in  his  favorite  occupation  of 
drawing.  He  had  become  scene-painter  to  a  dramatic 
company  who  had  a  floating  theatre  in  a  flat-boat  on  the 
Mississippi.  With  his  hand  thus  got  in,  he  looked  around 
for  what  was  wanted  in  that  line,  and  soon  found  that  such 
patriotic  or  pious  pictures  as  he  could  paint — say  two  per 
week,  more  or  less — found  a  ready  sale.  This  "opened 
up."  He  worked  at  it  a  while,  till  the  demand  came  in 
faster  than  he  could  finish  off,  and  he  then  raised  his 
prices,  and  began  to  think  of  fame.  Italy  was  a  country 
where  he  could  work  cheaper,  and,  at  any  rate,  a  better 
place  .for  his  pictures  to  hail  from.  To  make  sure,  how 
ever,  he  began  with  a  tour  through  the  back  settlements ; 
and,  calling  on  the  religious  farmers  and  leading  politicians, 


38  PAULFANE. 

he  procured  commissions  for  such  subjects  as  the}7  sever 
ally  preferred,  established  an  agency  in  Cincinnati,  and  so 
organized  his  market.  And,  by  due  return  of  the  mer 
chantmen  with  cargoes  of  oil  and  wine  from  Leghorn, 
came  home  scores  of  Blivins'  masterpieces  from  Florence, 
which  stood,  splendid  witnesses  of  republican  appreciation 
of  native  talent,  on  the  mantel-pieces  of  the  glorious  West. 


CHAPTER  V. 

IN  the  back  wing  of  one  of  the  old  half-ruined  palaces 
under  the  Eastern  wall  of  Florence — (the  once  splendid 
home  of  one  of  the  decayed  Tuscan  nobility,  but  now,  like 
others  in  its  unfashionable  neighborhood,  rented  for  mere 
pittances  of  rent  to  the  painters  and  sculptors  who  needed 
the  favoring  light  of  the  tall  windows  and  lofty  ceilings) — 
in  the  north  corner  of  the  Palazzo  F ,  on  a  still,  mel 
low  morning  of  April,  1832,  two  artists,  busy  with  color 
and  pencil,  stood  before  their  respective  easels,  in  the  same 
room.  They  were  in  opposite  corners,  on  either  side  of 
the  only  unshuttered  window,  and,  upon  a  raised  platform 
on  tKe  other  side  of  the  large  apartment,  with  a  flood  of 
the  golden  light  of  that  beautiful  sky  pouring  down  upon 
her  nude  shoulders  and  loosened  locks,  knelt  the  female 


PAULFANE.  39 

r 

model,  of  whom  they  were  each  making  a  study  for  a  pic 
ture.  The  girl's  mother,  who  accompanied  her  always,  sat 
knitting  on  a  low  chair  near  by,  and  in  the  sketch  on  one 
of  the  easels,  the  picturesque  head  and  figure  of  the  elder 
female  were  very  strikingly  included. 

"  Ten  cents  an  hour,  and  the  mother  thrown  in,  is  what 
I  call  moderate  damages,"  said  Blivins,  putting  a  wrinkle 
into  the  forehead  under  his  hand  with  a  single  dash  of  his 
brush,  "  but  I  don't  intend  to  swindle  the  old  woman.  It's 
a  Bible  Sarah  I  want,  and  she  isn't  quite  used-up  enough 
to  justify  my  Abraham,  as  it  were.  I  have  to  imagine  the 
flesh-flats  at  low  water,  and  the  tear-troughs  and  cavings- 
in.  But  her  daughter  is  a  slap-up  Hagar  and  no  mistake, 
and  if  I  get  a  good  picture  out  of  the  old  cow  and  her 
pretty  heifer,  why,  I'll  behave  handsomely,  and  fork  over 
the  consideration." 

"  Right,  and  fair,  my  dear  Bosh,"  said  Paul,  "  though 
Giulietta's  'ten  cents  an  hour'  is  for  letting  one  pair  of 
eyes  drink  of  her  beauty,  and  there  are  two  of  us  having 
that  pleasure.  So,  she  is  entitled  to  double  wages  on  her 
own  account,  and  the  mother's  extra  into  the  bargain. 
But  come,  see  what  a  charming  Psyche  she  makes ! — the- 
same  head  you  have  made  into  that  pork-fed  looking 
Hagar  of  yours,  you  awful'aggravator !" 

Blivins  stood  half  way  between  the.two  pictures,  looking 
first  at  his  strapping  Hagar  receiving  her  doom  of  exile 


40  PAUL    FANE. 

from  old  Sarah,  at  the  door  of  Abraham's  tent,  and  then  at 
the  timid  Psyche  just  venturing,  with  her  half-shaded  lamp, 
Upon  the  slumber  of  the  yet  unseen  Cupid. 

"  Not  much  like  pictures  of  the  same  woman,  that's  a 
fact,"  he  said,  after  a  moment  of  musing ;  "  and  there's  a 
likeness  of  the  girl  in  yours,  too — but  it's  mine  that  looks 
as  most  people  like  to  have  their  women  look  " 

"But  why  not  paint  what  they  ought  to  like,  and  so 
help  people  to  better  taste  ?"  interrupted  Paul,  who  kept 
up  a  daily  hammering  upon  Bosh's  exaggerations  of  fancy. 
"  Look  at  that  girl,  now  !" 

And,  as  he  spoke,  Giulietta,  taking  advantage  of  the  un 
occupied  moment  for  a  change  of  posture,  rose  and  walked 
dreamily  about  the  room,  her  exquisitely  rounded  arms 
folded  across  her  undraped  bust — superbly  lovely,  and  yet 
as  innocently  unconscious  of  the  exposure  from  her  waist 
upwards  as  a  nymph  in  marble. 

"  What  could  be  more  ethereal  and  pure  ?  And  yet 
your  Hagar,  there,  looks  anything  but  proper,  with  all  that 
flesh  and  color,  my  dear  Bosh  !" 

"  I  don't  doubt  you  are  entirely  unanimous  in  thinking 
so,"  said  Bosh,  with  a  tone  of  injured  mournfulness,  "  but 
most  folks  prefer  lips  with  a  landing-place  to  'em,  and 
something  to  make  fast  to,  here  and  there.  That  moon 
shine  woman  of  yours  wouldn't  do  for  my  customers,  Mr. 
Paul !  Did  I  ever  tell  you  who  my  Hagar  is  to  stand  for !" 


PAUL    FANE.  41 

"  No,"  said  his  friend,  who  had  resumed  his  study  of 
Giulietta ;  and  Paul  went  on  sketching,  while  Blivins,  with 
his  attention  mostly  occupied  with  his  work,  entered  upon 
a  careless  and  interrupted  narrative  of  one  of  his  Western 
experiences — showing  the  good  influence  of  criticism,  how 
ever,  by  shading  away,  as  he  talked,  some  of  the  superflu 
ous  plumptitude  of  his  Hagar. 

"  Wall,  you  see,  I  was  drifting  round  through  the  back 
settlements  in  Michigan,  on  a  propagation  of  the  Fine  Arts 
— getting  commissions,  that  is  to  say,  to  come  out  here. 
*  *  *  But  people  don't  buy  pictures  very  spontane 
ously,  particularly  if  they  haven't  seen  'em ;  and  it  took 
'soft  sodder'  to  start  the  subject,  and  then  it  had  to  be 
piety  or  politics  where  you  put  in  your  persuader ;  or  per 
haps  something  curious  had  happened  to  themselves,  or, 
with  a  sharp  look  out,  the  weak  spot  would  turn  up,  and 
you  might  stand  a  picture  on  that.  It  was  tight  election 
eering,  though,  and  I  could  go  to  Congress  with  half  the 
steam.  *  *  *  Come  to  a  river  one  night,  horseback; 
I  found  I  was  close  by  the  diggings  of  Deacon  Superior 
Nash,  and  he  and  my  old  gentleman  had  lumbered  together, 
and  so  I  reckoned  I'd  got  a  picture  on  to  him.  *  *  * 
Horse  put  up — all  right — nobody  at  home  but  the  Deacon 
— and,  to  talking  we  went,  over  cider  and  sausages."  *  *  * 

"  Topics,  pork  and  lumber,  I  suppose,"  said  Paul,  break 
ing  the  silence,  while  Bosh  became  abstracted  for  a  minute 


42  PAUL     FANE. 

or  two  in  gazing  at  a  new  turn  of  the  light  upon  the  superb 
shoulders  of  Giulietta. 

"No,"  continued  Blivins,  "I  got  him  confidential  by 
the  third  or  fourth  mug,  and  then  he  began  telling  about 
his  wives." 

"  But  the  Abraham  that  is  to  serve  for  his  likeness, 
there,  had  two  wives  at  a  time,"  suggested  Fane. 

"  So  had  the  Deacon,"  pursued  Bosh,  "  and  there  lay 
my  high  water  for  business.  He  told  me  the  whole  story 
— too  long  to  go  over  now — but  I  saw  my  opportunity, 
and  put  in  at  the  right  place.  *  Just  like  Abraham  and 
Hagar,'  says  I,  and  it  hit  him  exactly  on  the  raw.  His 
first  wife  was  a  high -pressure  old  spitfire,  and  he  had  com 
passed  Heaven  and  Michigan,  lobby  and  Legislature,  to 
get  a  divorce  from  her.  *  *  *  At  last  he  thought  he 
had  it.  *  *  *  Rafting-time  came  round,  and  he  went 
down  stream  with  a  mile  of  lumber,  calm  and  comfortable. 
*  *  *  Well,  the  Deacon  made  a  good  sell  at  New 
Orleans,  smarted  up,  and  started  for  home.  But  the 
thought  of  the  old  woman  still  troubled  him,  and  on  the 
way  he  married  another  woman,  to  take  the  taste  out  of 
his  mouth." 

"  Then  it  was  his  Sarah  driven  into  the  wilderness,  not 
his  Ilagar"  observed  Paul. 

"  No,  no ;  back  water,  if  you  please  !  He  hadn't  yet  got 
his  papers,  and  the  old  woman  managed  to  slip  her  foot 


PAUL     FANE.  43 

out  of  the  trap  while  he  was  away.  So  he  had  hardly 
got  home  and  held  the  first  prayer-meeting  in  his  own 
house  as  a  bridegroom,  when  he  had  to  cut  loose  from  his 
pretty  new  wife,  and  begin  to  pay  bills  again  for  the  old 
one." 

"Then  that  robustious  young  woman  you  have  been 
painting  there,  went  home  somewhat  a-Miss  ?"  said  Paul. 

"A  miss  and  nothing  else,"  assented  Blivins,  who  did 
not  see  the  pun. 

"  And  so,  Giulietta,  my  dear,"  said  Paul  with  a  tone  of 
compassion,  as  he  walked  across  the  room  to  lay  away  one 
of  the  waves  of  raven  hair  that  was  hiding  the  arch  of  her 
beautiful  throat,  "  you  are  not  to  be  Mrs.  Deacon  Nash, 
after  all !" 

"  Signore  /"  murmured  the  half  couchant  peasant-girl, 
on  hearing  her  name — but  with  a  look  of  tender  earnest 
ness  in  her  large  dark  eyes,  though  she  got  no  answer, 
which  showed  that  the  voice  and  manner  of  Paul  even  in 
a  strange  language,  were  very  sweet  to  hear. 

"  But  Giulietta  is  to  hang  up  in  the  Deacon's  parlor  for 
the  Mrs.  Nash  that  was  to  be"  continued  Bosh,  " and  very 
happy  the  old  Deacon  was,  to  find  that  Hagar  in  Genesis 
had  just  such  a  time  of  it  as  his  poor  girl,  and  that  he 
himself  was  no  worse  off  than  Abraham,  after  all.  He'll 
think  it  a  pity  that  his  live  Mrs.  Hagar  Nash  can't  get 


44  PAUL    FANE. 

into  his  Louse  and  stay  there,  as  peaceably  as  my  painted 
one  will,  that's  all." 

"  And  which  do  you  think  would  be  the  happier,  Bosh 
— Giulietta  as  Mrs.  Deacon  Nash,  or  Mrs.  Deacon  Nash  as 
Giulietta  ?" 

Blivins,  for  once  in  a  way,  gave  a  loud  laugh. 

"  Well,  I  think  I  see  the  wife  of  a  Michigan  Deacon 
showing  herself  round  for  ten  cents  an  hour — even  if  her 
mother  went  along !  Rather  low  water  for  Captain  Nash's 
family  to  drift  in,  Mr.  Paul !" 

"  But,  persisted  Fane,  who  was  beginning  to  have  his 
own  ideas  about  comparative  happiness,  "do  you  think 
Giulietta  would  bo  happier  and  more  innocent  if  she  could 
change  places  even  with  Mrs.  Sarah  Nash  ?" 

"  Why,"  said  Bosh,  rather  dodging  the  point  in  dispute, 
"  the  Deacon  will,  like  as  not,  be  Governor  of  Michigan  ?" 

"But  look  at  that  face,  my  popular  Blivins!  Every 
line  of  it,  spite  of  her  un-republican  industry,  has  the  re 
pose  of  completely  untroubled  happiness.  Giulietta  has 
never  had  an  illness,  never  had  a  care.  I  have  seen  where 
they  live,  in  the  valley  just  over  Fiesole,  and,  with  what 
Italian  I  had  picked  up  and  added  to  my  Latin,  I  managed, 
the  other  day,  to  hear  their  whole  story.  She  has  bed 
ridden  grand-parents  and  a  troop  of  young  brothers  and 
sisters — her  father  unable  to  get  half  a  livelihood  for  them. 


PAUL    FANE.  45 

But  they  bless  the  Holy  Virgin,  night  and  morning,  that 
the  eldest  daughter,  Giulietta,  was  born  beautiful  and  sym 
metrical  enough  to  be  a  model  to  the  artists.  She  com 
menced  at  ten  years  of  age,  sitting  to  the  sculptors  for  their 
cherubs  and  cupids,  and  has  supported  her  mother's  family 
ever  since,  in  comfort  and  happiness,  with  a  profession 
which,  in  her  rank  of  life,  while  conducted  properly,  is  both 
respected  and  envied." 

"  All  very  well,  out  here,"  Blivins  partly  knocked  under, 
by  saying,  as  Paul  took  breath,  "  but  it'll  be  a  long  time 
before  they'll  turn  it  to  account  that  way,  if  a  girl  is  born 
handsome  out  West !" 

"  Yet  here  and  there  a  Western  beauty,  I  fancy,  would 
like  to  be  the  type,  as  Giulietta  is,  of  many  a  work  of 
genius — copied,  idealized,  immortalized,  on  canvas  and  in 
marble — studied  and  worshipped,  daily  and  all  day,  by  the 
eyes  in  the  world  that  best  know  how  to  reverence  and 
prize  what,  in  her  beauty,  God  has  made  admirable." 

"  You're  putting  it  strong,  Paul,"  said  Bosh,  giving  more 
eyes  than  before,  'however,  to  the  beauty  that  was  so  dis 
coursed  upon,  "  for  I  don't  believe  Giulietta  cares  a  fig  what 
the  artists  copy,  or  what  they  think  while  they're  doing  it." 

" Mezzo  giorno,  Signori"  said  the  mother,  rising,  as  the 
convent  bell  rang  for  noon,  and  so  interrupting  the  argu 
ment  with  the  announcement  of  the  close  of  the  hour. 

And  Giulietta  stepped  from  the  platform  and  drew  up 


46  PAUL     FANE. 

the  shoulder-straps  of  the  coarse  petticoat  that  had  fallen 
around  her  hips,  twisted  her  heavy  masses  of  long  raven 
hair  into  a  knot,  and,  with  her  mantle  drawn  modestly 
around  her  faultless  form,  and  her  straw  hat  gracefully  set 
upon  her  nymph-like  head,  courtesied  her  "  Addio"  and 
.  gave  a  last  sweet  smile  to  Paul. 

And,  as  they  set  back  their  easels  for  that  day,  both 

artists  wished  it  were  the  time  to-morrow  when  she  would 

-* 

come  again. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  reader  is  not  aware,  perhaps,  that  he  was  let  into  a 
secret,  in  the  last  chapter,  by  the  description  there  given 
of  Blivins'  studio,  and  of  his  and  his  friend  Fane's  artistic 
morning  with  the  fair  model,  Giulietta.  There  will  hardly 
be  a  fair  understanding  of  the  footing  of  these  two  gentle 
men  in  Florence,  without  a  pause  in  our  story  while  we 
explain — though,  how  real  life,  which  does  not  pause  for 
such  explanations,  manages  to  get  understood  at  all,  is  a 
doubtfulness  which  you  have  only  to  write  a  true  tale  to 
grow  charitable  upon. 

Of  course  we  should  prefer  to  proceed,  as  we  were  about 
to  do,  and  finish  the  story  of  that  day  by  a  description  of 


PAUL     FANE.  47 

our  friends'  disposal  of  their  evening — Bosh  being  engaged 
to  dine  with  the  Fitz-Firkins,  the  wealthy  American  family 
resident  at  Florence,  and  Paul  going  to  a  Court  ball  at  the 
Pitti — but,  as  they  both  followed  the  custom  of  the  coun 
try  and  took  the  afternoon  nap  (which  goes  by  the  pretty 
name  of  "  la  siesta"),  we  have  an  interval  of  time,  for  which,  { 
without  violation  of  probability,  our  story  may  leave  them 
by  themselves.  ,. 

And  now,  then,  to  explain  why  this  studio,  and  the  daily 
labors  upon  its  two  very  different  easels,  in  a  half-ruined  and 
forgotten  old  plazzo  of  the  City  of  Art,  formed  a  part  of  the 
daily  life  of  our  two  friends,  which  they  kept  secret  from 
their  respective  acquaintances. 

On  Fane's  first  arrival  at  Paris,  with  a  warm  letter  of 
introduction  from  his  friend  Mrs.  Cleverly,  to  the  wife  of 
the  American  Minister,  who  chanced  to  be  a  special  inti 
mate  of  her  own,  he  had  been  very  kindly  received ;  and, 
with  but  time  enough  to  confirm  the  favorable  programme 
of  his  mind  and  manners  given  in  the  letter,  had  been 
taken  under  the  especial  wing  of  his  distinguished  lady-con 
signee,  by  his  appointment  as  attache  to  the  Legation.  By 
this  nominal  honor,  with  neither  emoluments  nor  duties, 
Paul  was  put  at  his  ease  in  the  court  society  of  the  gay 
capital ;  but  it  involved  the  necesssity,  also,  that,  in  accor 
dance  with  the  usual  proprieties  of  the  position,  he  should 


48  PAUL     FANE. 

appear,  in  all  other  respects,  a  gentleman  of  leisure.  His 
studies  for  the  main  ambition  of  his  life — as  an  artist — 
were  again,  therefore,  as  at  home,  put  under  a  chance  seal 
of  privacy. 

For  the  secondary  object  of  his  visit  to  Europe — the 
strong  though  unconfessed  desire  to  look  close  upon  the 
world's  finer  or  prouder  clay,  and  know  wherein  it  differed 
from  himself  and  those  he  loved — Paul's  horoscope  seemed 
most  favorably  cast.  It  was  with  a  secret  satisfaction 
which  he  scarce  dared  acknowledge  to  himself,  that  he  ac 
cepted  the  advantage  thus  held  out  to  him,  and  with  the 
magic  "  open  sesame "  of  a  diplomatic  title  on  his  card, 
entered  upon  the  dazzling  labyrinths  of  Parisian  life,  with 
its  world-})! ck  society  of  the  high-born  and  brilliant. 
Fortunately  for  th*  effect  of  this  giddy  intoxication  upon 
his  impressible  and  plastic  mind,  the  correspondence  with 
his  mother  called  him  faithfully  to  account,  day  by  day, 
before  conscience  and  her  calm,  sweet  eyes ;  and,  in  his 
genius  and  what  it  found  to  appreciate  and  select  in  the 
glitter  around  him,  there  was  still  another  pure  spirit,  un 
seen  but  ever  silently  separative  and  rejective  ;  and  of  these 
influences  (the  latter  more  particularly),  we  may,  perhaps, 
bettter  trsut  one  of  his  own  letters  to  explain  the  value. 
He  thus  wrote  from  Paris : — 


PAULFANE.  49 

DEAREST  MOTHER: 

That  little  twitch  at  the  lock  of  hair  over  my  left  temple  tells 
me  that  you  are  here,  just  as  certainly  as  when  you  crept  behind 
me  at  my  easel  at  home,  and  by  that  bell-pull  to  my  abstracted 
brain,  informed  me  that  I  was  to  come  out  of  my  picture  and  at 
tend  to  you.  Spirits  can  cross  oceans  and  pull  hair — I  here  record 
my  well-founded  belief — and  you  are  here,  up  three  flights  of 
stairs,  in  my  private  and  unapproachable  Parisian  den  waiting  to 
have  a  talk  with  your  boy.  Kiss,  dear  mother,  and  begin. 

By  your  last  letter  you  were  still  doubting  my  "  continued  iden 
tity  under  the  addition  of  a  court  sword,"  and,  to  tell  the  truth,  I 
am  still  wondering,  occasionally,  when  I  come  suddenly  upon 
myself  in  a  mirror  at  a  ball,  whether  that  pendant  superfluity  and 
gold  collar  are  me  I  I  have  swallowed,  with  some  difficulty,  gulp 
by  gulp,  the  daily  dishonesty  of  laying  aside  the  maul -stick  of  the 
artist  (which  I  am)  and  going  out  into  the  world  decked  with  the 
weapons  of  a  cavalier  (which  I  am  not].  So  silly  to  wear  a  sword 
to  a  party  at  all,  but  particularly  without  the  slightest  idea  of  how 
to  use  it  if  it  were  drawn  I  But  we  soon  agree  with  the  world  if 
we  find  it  admiring  us,  even  for  an  absurdity,  and  so  I  follow  my 
sword  about,  most  of  the  time ;  letting  it  make  way  for  me  if  it 
will,  and  asking  no  questions.  Small-clothes  and  silk  stockings, 
too !  But  I  will  spare  you  the  lesser  particulars. 

My  pencil  achieves  little  at  present,  I  am  free  to  own,  and, 
between  "  late  hours  "  and  early  engagements,  my  good-boy  quo 
tidian  of  application  is  shortened  at  both  ends  ;  but  I  think  you 
mistake,  dearest  mother,  in  fancying  the  time  altogether  lost 
which  is  given  to  the  "  gay  and  giddy  world,"  even  by  the  artist. 
Fashion,  though  it  has  a  bad  name,  is  the  customer  of  genius,  and 

3 


50  PAUL     FANE. 

enlists  many  a  pure  spirit  of  beauty  in  its  service  of  pleasure-mak 
ing.  Take  away  but  the  -wickedness  that  walks  unseen  in  these 
lighted  rooms,  and  they  would  be  fit  places  to  entertain  angels. 
And  it  is  not  merely  that  there  are  pictures  and  statuary  which 
wealth  alone  could  buy,  but  the  beauty  of  woman  (though  you 
need  not  tell  this  to  Mary),  seems  to  me  artistically  elevated  by  the 
wondrous  art  often  shown  in  its  embellishment — made  more  sacred, 
I  may  even  say,  by  the  costliness  that  seems  so  to  enshrine  and 
fence  it  in.  A  jewel  of  great  price  has  great  splendor,  and  a  rare 
flower  is  the  more  curious  and  far-sought  work  of  God — and  such 
gem  or  flower,  well  worn  by  the  proud  and  high-born  beauty,  has 
the  effect  (on  my  new  eyes,  at  least)  of  a  choice  .seal  or  more  pre 
cious  cipher  placed  on  the  wearer  to  mark  Nature's  best. 

Then  these  people  who  "  fritter  away  life,"  "  turn  day  into 
night,"  indulge  in  "  wasteful  extravagance,"  and  are,  in  fact,  the 
very  Pharaohs  and  Pharisees  whom  good  Dr.  Evenden  preaches 
into  the  Red  Sea,  and  a  still  warmer  place  with  such  heavenly- 
minded  perseverance — why,  dear  mother,  they  do  not  look  so  bad 
when  you  come  close  to  them!  Of  course  the  palaces  and  grand 
houses  where  all  the  "pomp  and  vainglory  "  is  to  be  found,  are  the 
Doctor's  "  Sodom  and  Gomorrah" — but,  to  my  surprise,  the  man 
ners  are  simpler  in  such  places  than  in  the  Doctor's  own  congre 
gation  ;  and  the  voices  are  more  meditative  and  gentle  ;  and  the 
postures,  walk  and  conversation  (if  my  artistic  sense  of  propriety 
as  well  as  taste,  is  to  be  trusted  at  all),  are,  in  their  well-studied 
humility  and  well-bred  unassumingness  and  simplicity,  more  suit 
able  for  any  reasonable  "  Zion."  "  Satan  in  disguise,"  very  possi 
bly — but  may  I  not  admire,  with  suitable  precaution  (or,  till  there 
is  some  smell  of  brimstone  in  the  air),  what  I  thus  find  purest  in 
taste  and  seeming  ? 


PAUL     FANE.  51 

One  thing  I  should  insist  on  your  recognising  and  approving,  if 
you  were  here,  my  calm-eyed  and  quiet-mannered  mamma ! — the 
character  given  to  the  general  look  and  presence  of  these  high 
bred  Europeans  by  their  air  of  unconscious  repose.  It  may  be 
from  the  contrast  with  the  more  abrupt  and  nervous  constitution 
of  our  people  at  home,  but  it  seems  to  me  a  very  marked  as  well 
as  admirable  peculiarity  of  court  manners.  It  affects  beauty  so 
much !  The  pose  of  the  head,  the  turn  of  the  arm,  the  movement 
of  the  person — all  governed  by  nerves  that  are  never  taken  by 
surprise,  and  always  deliberately  dignified.  Then  the  expression 
of  the  features  is  so  artistically  improved  by  it !  One  look  is 
shaded  into  another — a  smile  heralded  like  a  sunrise,  by  a  dawn ; 
.1  change  from  gayety  to  sadness  made  tenderer  by  a  twilight. 
Such  self-possessed  and  imperturbable  tranquillity  of  look,  man 
ner  and  movement,  I  may  add,  impresses  you  like  a  language  of 
peace  of  mind  (deceivingly,  as  it  may  interpret  the  fashionable 
consciences  beneath),  and  gives  a  kind  of  moral  superiority  to  the 
atmosphere,  which  is  sometimes  painfully  wanting  to  the  starting, 
hesitating,  uncertain  manners  of  our  most  exemplary  "  brethren 
and  sisters."  Please,  let  me  think  so,  at  least,  dear  mother,  and 
profit  by  the  lesson  I  draw  from  it.  The  "  ccelum~que  tueri'1'' — the 
face  of  man  made  to  look  upward — implies  that  the  human  coun 
tenance  may  have  a  more  or  less  edifying  look — does  it  not? 

I  have  all  sorts  of  acquaintances  here,  but,  as  yet,  no  intimates. 
After  the  excitement  of  an  evening  in  society,  the  mute  presence 
of  genius  in  these  hushed  and  lofty  galleries  of  Art  has  a  wonder 
ful  enchantment.  Fortunately  the  world  is  too  busy  or  too  polite 
to  inquire  how  one  disposes  of  his  spare  time,  and  I  safely  give  to 
my  pencil,  or  to  studies  of  great  pictures,  as  exclusive  and  long  a 
morning  as  I  please.  It  might  be  different  if  I  had  intimacies  ; 


62  PAUL    FANE. 

but,  a*  I  said  before,  I  have  none — my  attention,  up  to  the  present 
time,  Laving  enough  to  do  to  be  general  only — wholly  engrossed, 
that  it  to  say,  with  being  civil  enough  to  pass  muster  while  I 
obserre  merely.  There  is  so  much  that  is  new  and  beautiful  on 
every  gide,  that  Curiosity  and  Appreciation  (those  two  quiet  min 
istering  spirits)  give  one  his  fill  of  pleasure.  With  admirable 
works  of  Art  and  admirable  people,  therefore,  I  maintain,  at  pres 
ent,  pretty  much  the  same  relation — receiving  great  pleasure  from 
what  is  charming  in  each,  but  endeavoring  to  impress,  in  turn, 
neither  picture  nor  gentleman,  neither  statue  nor  lady. 

My  own  path  in  Art  is  becoming  again  visible  to  me,  though  its 
faint  and  far  line  was  entirely  lost,  at  first,  in  the  flood  of  predom 
inant  genius  gathered  in  these  splendid  galleries.  Whether  I  shall 
ever  have  the  skill  to  express  the  ideal  which  is  daily  shaping  itself 
to  my  inner  eyes,  I  do  not  know — but,  from  every  masterpiece,  as 
I  study  it  more  intently,  the  something  I  should  have  done  dif 
ferently  separates  and  stands  apart  like  a  phantom,  and,  to  grasp 
and  realize  that  I  feel  to  be  my  problem  of  success.  Of  course, 
what  I  cannot  make  visible  with  my  pencil,  I  am  still  less  able  to 
define  in  words,  so  I  cannot  tell  you  what  this  style  of  mine  is  to 
be.  But  I  may  say  that,  while^,  it  is  less  animal  than  what  I  find  to 
be  the  most  successful  ideals,  it  is  not  so  by  any  lessening  of  pro 
portions  or  development.  It  is  merely  that  it  is  made  more  spirit 
ual  by  a  consciousness  intellectual  only.  The  body,  with  all  its 
perfected  beauty,  is  forgotten  in  the  soul.  Mary  Evenden  repre 
sents  it.  She  looks  as  if  walking  the  world  with  only  the  spirit- 
memory  of  the  Heaven  she  came  from — wholly  unconscious  of  the 
form  that  she  animates  and  bears  about — yet  how  full  and  absolute 
is  her  beauty  as  a  woman  ! 

Well,  dear  mother,  I  have  passed  the  evening  with  you,  and  the 


PAUL     FANE.  53 

midnight,  that,  to  you,  three  thousand  miles  away,  will  be  a  more 
tardy  visitant,  is  now  at  my  door.  Let  it  bring  you  my  good-night 
kiss — thougn,  instead  of  undressing  for  dream-land,  as  with  that 
good-night  kiss  at  home,  I  must  dress  presently  for  a  ball.  May 
God  preserve  me  to  my  mother,  and  my  mother  to  me!  Dear, 
precious,  blessed  mother,  ever  loving  and  beloved,  good-night ! 

PAUL. 

It  was  three  months  after  the  date  of  this"*letter  that 
Fane  found  himself  in  Florence — his  six  months  in  J^aris 
having  given  him  all  the  knowledge  of  the  gay  capital  of 
which  he  felt  he  could  make  conscientious  use  at  that  stage 
of  his  artistic  progress,  and  his  errand  to  Italy  being  the 
need  he  felt  of  the  apprenticeship  to  its  higher  schools, 
combined  with  its  better  facilities  for  practical  study.  By 
the  advice  of  his  kind  friend,  the  Minister,  however,  he  had 
retained  his  appointment  as  attache — the  diplomatic  pass 
port  giving  him  the  same  privileges  at  other  courts  as  at 
Paris — and,  on  his  arrival,  he  had  duly  gone  through  the 
form  of  a  presentation  to  the  hospitable  sovereign  of 'Tus 
cany,  and,  with  his  court  position,  and  the  letters  he  had 
brought,  was  very  readily  at  his  ease  as  a  supposed  travel 
ler  for  pleasure. 

But  Florence  is  a  small  capital,  and  the  arrangement  of 
means  for  a  very  devoted  yet  still  necessarily  secret  pursuit 
of  his  professional  studies,  seemed  to  offer,  at  first,  formida 
ble  embarrassments  to  Paul.  He  had  occupied  himself 


54  PAULFANE. 

for  a  week  or  two  in  forming  acquaintances  and  visiting 
the  Galleries,  his  mind  very  much  troubled  with  plans  for 
which  his  small  resources  seemed  quite  unequal,  when  he 
chanced,  one  evening,  to  stroll  into  the  cafe,  of  the  Piazza 
Trinita.  As  usual,  this  favorite  resort  of  artists  and  idlers 
was  thronged  with  guests — the  wandering  musicians,  flower- 
girls,  cignr-venders,  and  begging  monks,  all  in  lively  circu 
lation  among  the  crowd — and  Paul  seated  himself  at  one 
of  the  marble  tables,  dispirited  and  lonely.  He  called  for 
his  coffeo,  and  sat  stirring  away  at  his  sugar  ver»*  thought 
fully,  when,  carelessly  looking  up,  he  encountered  a  pair  of 
eyes  fastened  upon  him,  the  owner  sitting  on  the  other  side 
of  the  cafe,  in  a  petrified  stare,  head  and  arms  thrown  back, 
mouth  wide  open,  and  the  power  of  motion,  apparent!}7,  sus 
pended  for  the  moment  by  an  asphyxia  of  speechless  aston 
ishment. 

Paul  leaned  suddenly  forward,  and  as  he  shaded  his 
eyes  with  his  hand,  the  just  visible  parting  of  his  lips  with 
the  inaudible  question  "  Bosh  !"  expressed  his  own  incred 
ulous  amazement  at  what  lie  saw. 

At  the  same  instant  there  was  a  yell  which  all  but 
scalped  every  musical  Italian  within  half  a  mile. 

"Yahoo!  Jehosophatl  Don't  hold  me!  Paul  Fane, 
by  all  that's  navigable  !" 

And  crouching  into  a  figure  4,  like  a  hard-pushed  bear 
clearing  the  chasm  of  a  water-course,  Blivins  started  on 


PAUL     FANE.  65 

an  air-line  across  the  cafe  to  Paul,  overturning  first  the 
supper  on  his  own  round  table,  and  then  with  a  touch-and- 
go  wipe  of  his  foot  over  the  top  of  the  next  one,  carrying 
away  the  coffee  and  maraschino  of  a  couple  of  thunder 
struck  French  artists. 

The  mutual  miscellany  of  limbs  and  exclamations  that 
the  friends  went  into — (for  Paul's  own  recognition  of 
Bosh  was  a  rebound  from  loneliness  and  depression,  and 
he  had  embraced  and  re-embraced  his  old  room-mate 
before  he  thought  of  the  probable  impression  on  those 
around) — was  a  spectacle  gazed  on  with  apprehensive 
amazement.  They  were  scarce  beginning  to  sit  on  two 
seats,  and  hear  each  other  speak,  however,  when  the  wait 
ers  came  rushing  in  with  ropes  and  shutters — the  landlord 
not  doubting  in  the  least  that  Bosh  was  an  escaped  mad 
man,  and  sending  instantly  for  something  to  tie  him  to, 
and  prevent  further  mischief. 

The  waiters  hesitated  about  taking  hold  of  such  a  look 
ing  customer  as  Bosh,  and,  with  the  time  thus  gained,  Paul 
settled  his  disturbed  clothes  and  put  on  his  habitual  look 
of  propriety ;  and,  with  an  apology  to  the  two  gentlemen 
who  had  been  walked  over,  and  an  explanation  to  the 
landlord  that  his  friend  was  from  the  Rocky  Mountains 
and  had  the  precipitate  manners  of  the  steep  side  of  the 
American  Continent,  he  paid  the  breakages,  etc.,  and 
walked  Bosh  off — the  track  made  for  them  by  the  distrust- 


56  PAULFANE, 

ful  crowd,  as  they  gained  the  street,  being  considerably 
wider  than  the  respect  for  Bosh's  personal  presence  usually 
commanded. 

It  was  a  happy  evening  to  the  two  friends.  Besides  the 
pleasure  of  renewing  their  old  intimacy,  each  happened  to 
supply  exactly  the  most  pressing  want  of  the  other — Paul's 
counsel  and  tutorship  in  Art  being  very  necessary  to 
Blivins  and  Blivins's  nominal  tenantship  of  a  studio,  and 
confidential  agency  in  the  procuring  of  all  the  belongings 
of  an  artist,  being  the  very  screen  for  retired  application 
which  Paul  was  puzzled  to  contrive. 

And,  before  the  sunset  of  another  day,  they  were  domi 
ciled  together,  their  lodgings  in  a  small  street  running 
westward  from  the  Piazza  Trinita,  and  their  common  studio 
where  we  have  already  described  it,  in  a  wing  of  one  of 
the  lofty  and  half-ruined  palaces  on  the  unfrequented  side 
of  the  city.  It  was  an  accident  favorable  to  Paul's  wishes, 
also,  that  Blivins,  from  some  glimmer  which  his  dignity 
had  received  of  the  probable  misappreciation  of  his  pic 
tures  by  his  brother  artists  in  Florence,  had,  after  the  first 
week,  jealously  kept  his  sanctum  to  himself.  No  visitor 
knew  the  way  to  it. 

And  here,  in  what  was  nominally  Blivins's  studio,  the 
two  friends  gave  their  mornings  uninterruptedly  to  Art — 
the  manner  of  disposal  of  the  remaining  portions  of  their 
time  being  what  the  deferred  next  chapter  will  now  hasten 
to  portray. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  sunset  was  pouring  its  yellow  dust  over  tit*  streets 
of  Florence,  giving  a  softened  and  rounded  edge  to  every 
line  of  the  bold  and  overladen  architecture.  Every  most 
careless  effect  of  building  or  beast  of  burden — every  move 
ment  or  posture  of  man,  woman  or  child — seemed  the  ori 
ginal  of  a  picture  of  Claude.  The  air  was  happiness  enough 
to  breathe,  without  life's  being  made  any  richer. 

"  I  will  make  no  engagement  for  to-morrow  morning," 
said  Paul,  to  his  friend  Bosh,  as  they  parted  at  the  door 
of  their  lodgings ;  "  to  a  night  with  such  an  atmosphere  as 
this,  a  man  can  only  deliver  himself  over." 

"  But,  there's  Giulietta  engaged  early,"  interrupted 
Bosh ;  "  why  not  give  the  night's  sleep  the  go-by,  alto 
gether — wind  up  at  the  ball  with  a  cup  of  coffee,  and  come 
straight  to  the  studio  ?" 

"  Too  pure  a  presence  to  bring  such  polluted  eyes  to," 
said  Paul,  thoughtfully.  "I  would  not  profane  the  child 
by  looking  upon  her  beauty  without  the  baptism  of  sleep, 
after  one  of  these  court  balls !" 

6T 


58  PAUL    PANE. 

"  Wh — e — w  !"  incredulously  whistled  Blivins,  to  whom 
this  scruple  was  a  trifle  too  transcendental ;  "  little  she'll 
care  whether  you've  baptized  your  ten-cent  piece,  so  you 
pay  it !  I  shall  go  dine  with  the  Firkinses,  without  losing 
any  of  my  goodness,  as  I  know  of.  Giulietta  for  one,  if 
you're  not  there,  that's  all." 

The  passing  vetturino,  to  whom  Paul  had  beckoned, 
drove  up  at  this  moment,  and  the  two  friends  parted  for 
their  different  engagements — Blivins  to  proceed  on  foot  to 
the  splendid  "  Palazzo  Firkin,"  and  Fane  directing  the 
driver  of  the  hired  vehicle  to  pass  out  at  the  city  gate 
toward  San  Miniato.  He  was  to  take  tea  with  the  Pale- 
fords,  at  their  vineyard  cottage  among  the  neighboring 
hills,  and  come  in  with  them  to  the  court  ball,  at  a  later 
hour. 

With  alternate  crawl  and  scamper,  after  the  fashion  of 
the  country,  the  vetlurino  pursued  his  way  toward  Casa 
F ,  and  the  yellow  of  the  fading  sunlight  was  contend 
ing  with  the  silver  of  a  full  moon  new  risen,  when  they 
stopped  at  the  rude  old  gateway. 

"  Porter  or  portress,  whichever  you  please,  my  dear 
Fane,"  said  Colonel  Paleford,  stepping  out  from  under  the 
roofed  lintel,  with  his  daughter  upon  his  arm,  and  giving 
Paul  a  hand  as  he  alighted,  "  Sybil  and  I  came  down  to 
share  the  honor  of  opening  the  gate  for  you." 

And  warmly  returning  the  grasp  of  the  soldierly  English- 


PAUL     FANE.  69 

man,  and  raising  his  hat  with  the  most  deferential  homage 
as  he  bowed  low  to  take  the  proffered  hand  of  the  daugh 
ter,  Paul  joined  them  on  their  return  to  the  house.  The 
rough  vineyard  road  was  lined  and  roofed  over  with  the 
luxuriant  vines,  and  as  they  emerged  from  the  darkened 
avenue  at  the  end,  they  came  upon  the  English  tea-table 
spread  on  the  grass  in  the  open  air. 

"  This  is  rather  alfresco,  for  an  invalid,"  said  Mrs.  Pale- 
ford,  as  she  nodded  familiarly  to  Paul,  and  went  on  pour 
ing  out  the  tea  that  had  been  waiting  for  them,  "  but  a 
house,  in  this  climate,  is  such  a  different  thing !  In  Eng 
land  it  shuts  in  comfort — here,  it  shuts  it  out" 

"  So  defined  in  the  bird-dictionary,"  said  Paul. 

4;  It  was  thought  to  be  running  such  a  dreadful  gauntlet 
of  exposure,  when  I  started  to  get  to  Italy,"  continued  the 
invalid,  "  but  what  would  my  doctor  say,  now — quite  given 
over  as  a  consumptive,  and  yet  taking  tea  out  of  doors  in 
the  evening  ?" 

Paul  was  seated  at  the  round  table,  by  this  time,  with 
one  of  the  younger  children  upon  his  knee,  and  Miss  Pale- 
ford  leaned  upon  her  father's  shoulder,  looking  alternately 
into  his  face  as  he  talked,  and  at  the  broad  disk  of  the 
moon  as  it  lifted  among  the  olive-trees  beyond.  The 
beautiful  girl*  took  little  or  no  part  in  the  conversation, 
except  by  a  worshipping  attention  to  her  father,  which 


GO  P  A  U  L       F  A  N  E  . 

seemed  to  Paul  to  partake  almost  of  the  character  of  a 
fascination. 

"  I  was  speculating,  only  this  morning,  upon  a  very  con 
tented  old  cripple  at  the  gate,"  said  the  Colonel,  "  and 
thinking  \vhat  a  happy  country  it  is,  where  exclusion  and 
exposure  are  not  among  the  ills  of  poverty." 

"  And  where  bread  and  wine  may  be  had  at  any  vine 
yard  gate  for  the  asking,"  added  Paul. 

"  But  it  is  not  merely  in  the  climate  and  its  prodigality 
of  what  will  sustain  life,"  continued  his  friend,  "  but  see 
how  much  more  is  free  of  cost  than  elsewhere — say  of 
luxuries,  and  to  those  who  are  poor,  like  us  !" 

Paul  glanced  at  the  lofty  impress  of  feature  and  manner 
on  the  family  around  him,  and  admired  once  more  the 
English-ism  of  making  no  secret  of  reduced  circumstances 
or  necessary  economy. 

"  The  Duke's  galleries  are  of  unheard  of  cost — so  are  his 
gardens — the  galleries  and  gardens  of  his  nobility — yet  nei 
ther  he  nor  any  one  of  his  court  is  more  at  liberty  to  enjoy 
them  than  you  or  I,  Fane — and  without  the  cost  of  a  farthing ! 
Then  the  ball  at  the  Palace  to-night,  with  its  lighted  wilder 
ness  of  splendors,  its  music  and  feasting — the  very  preemi 
nence  of  rank,  in  the  sovereign  entertainer,  relieving  your 
pride  of  the  embarrassment  of  receiving  such  hospitalities 
without  return !" 


PAUL     FANE.  61 

"  But  I  have  thought,  even  in  my  own  country,  where 
there  is  less  'luxury  gratis'  than  any  where  else,"  said 
Paul,  "  that  the  rich  man  is  often  the  care-worn  manager 
of  the  theatre  where  others  enjoy  the  play." 

"  Climate  has  much  to  do  with  the  pleasure  of  being 
rich,"  the  Colonel  went  musingly  on  to  say,  "  the  con 
sciousness  of  an  empty  pocket  being  very  different  in  a 
chilly  atmosphere  or  a  warm  one.  Any  man  in  the  world, 
I  venture  to  say,  would  feel  richer  on  a  shilling  in  Florence, 
than  on  a  guinea  in  London.  But  aside  from  the  fancy  of 
the  matter,  there  is  positive  reason  for  wealth  being  so 
much  more  of  a  blessing  in  England. — the  costly  shutting 
out  of  the  climate,  that  there  is  to  be  done  before  you  can 
begin  to  be  happy.  The  beggar,  here,  has  what  we  call 
*  comfort' — but  there  must  be  '  competency'  in  England,  to 
procure  you  the  house  and  hearth  which  would  only  just 
enable  you  to  begin  where  the  Italian  beggar  stands 
already." 

"No  beggars  in  republics,  I  suppose?  asked  the  listening 
Sybil,  turning  her  calm  blue  eyes  from  the  moon  upon  Paul, 
with  an  effect,  in  their  lustre  and  in  the  slow  motion  which 
he  admiringly  likened  in  his  own  mind  to  the  priestess-like 
pouring  out  of  vases-full  of  moonlight  upon  a  worshipper  of 
Dian.  Busy  with  storing  away  the  chance-gleam  of  so 
much  beauty  in  his  artistic  memory — observing,  too,  that  the 
earnest  study  of  his  voicelessly  responsive  look  had  started 


62  PAUL     FANE. 

the  coior  into  the  cheek  of  the  reserved  girl — Paul  did  not 
immediately  answer. 

"  And  with  no  rank  in  America,"  said  Mrs.  Paleford,  "  I 
suppose  wealth  goes  further  there  than  elsewhere,  towards 
making  a  grandee." 

"  It  would  seem  as  if  it  must  be  so,"  replied  Paul,  and 
probably  would  be,  but  that  wealth  is  brought  into  less  es 
teem  by  two  or  three  chance  influences,  that  are  also 
American.  In  the  first  place,  fortunes  are  made  easily,  in 
our  country — often  so  accidentally  or  suddenly — that  the 
mere  fact  of  being  rich  gives  no  unconditional  position. 
Then  wealth  is  so  easily  lost,  with  the  venturesome  charac 
ter  of  our  people,  and  it  is  so  divided  up  where  there  is  no 
law  of  primogeniture,  that  it  is  not  looked  upon  as  a  suffi 
cient  permanency  to  confer  any  undisputed  superiority  of 
one  family  over  another.  And  there  is  a  third  and  worse 
opprobrium  under  which  wealth  labors  in  America — its 
possession,  in  the  majority  of  cases,  by  those  to  whose  chil 
dren  it  is  a  curse.  New  to  it  themselves,  as  most  rich 
people  are,  and  bringing  up  their  families  in  mere  idleness 
and  ostentation,  they  do  not  hand  down  the  superiorities 
of  culture  in  mind  and  manners  which  are  the  accompani 
ments  of  inherited  wealth  elsewhere.  The  phrase  "  rich 
men's  sons"  contains  a  sneer  in  common  parlance,  and  de 
scribes  those,  who,  as  a  class,  are  positively  offensive." 

41  But  you  have  distinctions  of  society,  surely,"  said  the 


PAUL     FANE.  63 

Colonel,  "and  there  are  such  gradations  recognized  as 
"  first  families  "  and  "  fashionables."  You  have  people 
who  are  allowed  to  be  more  of  gentlefolks  than  others — • 
have  you  not  ?" 

•  "  Undoubtedly  —  nowhere  more  certainly,"  answered 
Paul — "though  there  would  be  different  ground  to  be 
shown  for  the  higher  social  standing,  in  each  particular 
case.  No  one  theory  of  aristocracy  would  account  for  the 
"  first  families  "  in  any  American  city.  And,  as  there  are  no 
definite  or  arbitrary  crusts  of  gentility,  above  or  below,  the 
rise  or  fall  of  social  consequence  has  a  certain  naturalness 
of  play — a  moral  specific  gravity,  as  it  were — more  just 
than  in  other  countries." 

"  Wealth  is  an  accessory,  of  course  ?"  inquired  the  in 
valid. 

"  Yes,  and  so  is  good  birth  or  descent  from  forefathers 
who  have  stood  socially  well  rather  than  from  those  who 
have  held  popular  office.  But  these  are  accessories  only. 
Claims  (over  and  above  integrity  and  morals,  that  is  to 
say),  must  be  otherwise  undeniable." 

"  Claims  such  as  talents,  you  mean,  or  superior  educa 
tion  ?"  said  the  Colonel. 

"No,"  said  Paul,  hesitating  and  coloring  slightly  as  he 
ventured  upon  a  remark  which  only  its  entire  truthfulness 
redeemed  from  being  too  directly  complimentary,  "there 
is  nothing  which  gives  such  unquestioned  social  standing 


64  PAULPANE. 

in  America  as  just  what  I  have  the  happiness  to  see  be!  e 
me — Nature's  mark  and  mould  of  superiority. 

The  father  playfully  smoothed  off  the  goldcn-ed^ed 
tress  from  the  forehead  of  his  child  so  superbly  beautiful, 
and  she,  in  turn,  looked  into  his  clear-cut  and  noble  fea 
tures—each  finding  in  the  other  a  confirmation  of  Paul's 
bold  venture  of  appreciation. 

"  And  it  is  a  privileged  country,  in  that  respect,"  con 
tinued  Paul,  "for  those  who  represent  our  first  classes 
commonly  have  the  look  of  it ;  and  when  the  stranger  is 
called  upon  to  recognise  the  leaders  of  society,  it  may  be 
tolerably  certain  that  he  finds  them  to  be  Nature's  nobility 
also." 

"  Curiously  different  from  Italy,  in  that  respect,"  said 
Mrs.  Paleford,  "  the  peasantry  having  all  the  beauty  in  this 
least  republican  of  countries." 

"And  the  contrast  must  continue  to  strengthen,"  added 
the  Colonel,  "  for,  with  the  greater  value  of  beauty  and  the 
higher  position  given  by  a  natural  air  of  superiority,  the 
possessors  of  such  gifts,  in  America,  will  make  what  are 
called  *  the  best  matches,'  and  so  the  pick  of  Nature's  out 
side  chances  and  caprices  will  be  constantly  tributary  to 
the  stock  of  the  upper  classes.  Here,  it  is  very  easy  to 
see,  the  physique  of  the  aristocracy  is  suffering  pitiably 
from  the  opposite  system — the  nobility  being  very  rigidly 
subject  to  intermarriage  of  old  blood,  and  for  reasons  of 


PAUL     FANE  G5 

mere  pride  or  interest.  That  fine  races  run  ouf  with  this 
treatment,  we  see  by  the  present  dwarfed  possessors  of  the 
great  names  of  Spain  and  Portugal." 

"  Then  you  romantically  marry  for  love,  in  America  ?" 
asked  Mrs.  Paleford. 

"  Oftenest,"  said  Paul  smiling,  "though  it  is  hardly 
looked  upon  as  a  sacrifice.  It  is  taken  for  granted  in  our 
new  country,  that  any  young  man  worth  having  can  at 
least  support  a  wife ;  and,  as  married  men  are  more  trusted 
in  business,  from  having  more  to  be  responsible  for,  a  young 
bride  is  an  improvement  of  her  husband's  credit,  and  there 
fore,  in  herself  a  dowry." 

Miss  Paleford  lifted  her  head  from  her  father's  shoulder, 
and  gave  an  attention  to  the  conversation  which  Paul 
interpreted  as  only  an  amused  interest  in  the  novelty  of 
the  view. 

"  Oh,"  he  continued,  laughing,  "  you  should  go  to  Am 
erica  to  see  the  difference  that  little  trifle  makes  in  the 
manners  of  the  young  ladies !  Fancy  a  country  where 
they  all  behave  like  heiresses !" 

"  Time  to  be  thinking  of  the  Duke's  ball,  my  child," 
said  Colonel  Paleford.  "There  is  not  much  complaint 
made,"  he  continued,  turning  to  Paul  as  the  stately  girl 
disappeared  under  the  rough  trellis-work  which  made  the 
vestibule  to  their  vineyard  cottage — "  not  much  that  we 
hear  of,  at  least,  as  to  the  subjection  of  the  sex  to  this  des- 


66  PAUL    FANE. 

tiny  of  *  bought-and-sold/  which,  in  our  high  European 
society,  is  scarce  avoidable — but  there  is  occasionally  a 
proud  spirit  that  makes  bitter  rebellion  against  it!" 

Paul  understood,  from  the  degree  more  than  usual  of 
subdued  distinctness  with  which  the  Colonel  uttered  this 
remark  (at  the  same  time  so  undertoning  it  as  not  to  be 
overheard  by  his  retiring  daughter)  that  a  point  had  been 
inadvertently  approached  where  the  pride  of  the  queenly 
girl  had  made  its  resistance  to  what  might  be  looked  for 
ward  to  as  her  lot,  under  the  reduced  circumstances  of  her 
family.  Mrs.  Paleford  had,  in  the  meantime,  left  them  to 
assist  at  the  toilette  within ;  and,  putting  his  arm  through 
the  Colonel's,  Paul  led  off  for  a  stroll  through  the  vine 
yard,  changing  the  subject  as  they  turned  away.  We  may 
leave  the  two  gentlemen  to  their  conversation,  while  we 
give  the  reader  a  hint  or  two,  by  which  these — Paul's  most 
intimate  friends  in  Florence — will  have  a  fairer  introduc 
tion  to  our  story. 

Colonel  Paleford  was  an  English  officer,  who  had  retired 
from  the  service  upon  half  pay,  after  losing  an  arm  at  Wa 
terloo;  and,  with  little  beside  that  slender  income  for  the 
support  of  his  family,  he  had  made  Italy  his  permanent 
home.  The  extreme  economy  with  which  the  mere  neces 
saries  of  life  may  be  had  in  that  country,  by  those  who 
will  consent  to  entirely  forego  show  and  luxury,  had  been 
thoroughly  studied  and  unhesitatingly  and  openly  adopted 


PA  u  L     F  A  N  E  .  C7 

by  the  independent  and  lofty-minded  soldier,  and  lie  was 
thus  enabled  to  live  within  his  means  and  with  little  or  no 
embarrassment  or  care.  The  cottage  he  rented,  on  one  of 
the  beautiful  hillsides  in  the  suburbs  of  Florence,  was  the 
rustic  homestead  of  a  vintager,  whose  simple  Italian  family 
were  glad  to  bestow  themselves  in  the  out-buildings  and 
serve  as  domestics  ;  and,  with  himself  and  his  wife  as  the 
only  instructors  of  his  children,  they  had  a  little  world  of 
their  own  to  which  their  natural  nobility  and  refinement 
gave  the  atmosphere  of  a  palace. 

Paul  had  first  met  the  Palefords  at  court,  where  they 
had  a  position  quite  peculiar  to  themselves.  The  English 
Ambassador  was  a  man  of  strong  good  sense,  and  he  had 
lost  no  opportunity  of  designating,  by  his  own  marked  and 
constant  attentions,  the  place  which  he  wished  his  high- 
minded  and  soldierly  countryman  to  take  in  the  courtly 
estimation.  But  even  this  was  not  necessary.  The  sove 
reign  of  the  Tuscan  Court  was  a  man  to  appreciate  Col 
onel  Paleford  at  a  glance.  Simple  in  his  own  manners, 
and  a  thorough  man  of  the  world,  Leopold  valued  Nature's 
mark  of  superiority  on  those  around  him,  and  evidently 
felt  his  court  to  be  peculiarly  dignified  and  graced  by  the 
stately  form  with  the  empty  sleeve  pinned  to  its  breast  like 
a  cross  of  honor,  and  the  fine  face  distinguished  above  all 
the  courtiers  and  men  of  rank  for  its  intellectual  nobilit}7-. 
Oftener  seen  in  conversation  with  him  than  with  any  other 

\ 


68  PAULFANE. 

of  his  guests,  he  made  his  royal  appreciation  the  universal 
one,  of  course. 

But  it  was  the  daughter  of  the  soldierly  Englishman  who 
was  the  mystery  to  the  gay  court  of  Tuscany.  The  father's 
constant  presence  at  the  various  festivities  had  evidently  no 
object  but  to  bring  her  into  society — her  mother  too  much 
of  an  invalid  to  perform  her  duties  as  chaperon — yet  she 
seemed  to  take  little  interest  in  the  gayeties  around  her. 
Dressed  always  in  white,  and  with  the  most  studied  sim 
plicity  and  absence  of  ornament,  she  had  his  tall  military 
figure  for  certainly  a  most  becoming  foil,  and,  as  she  was 
almost  inseparable  from  his  arm,  they  formed  the  one 
tableau,  always  seen,  yet  startlingly  unique  and  beautiful. 
There  were  few  whose  eyes  did  not  follow  and  dwell  upon 
them  as  they  were  met  promenading  the  long  suites  of 
rooms,  or  as  they  sat  together  with  some  distinguished 
group  around  them ;  and,  among  her  own  sex,  there  were 
few  who  did  not  envy  Miss  Paleford  the  constant  proces 
sion  of  admiring  "desirables"  led  up  for  presentation,  while 
they  could  not  but  wonder  at  her  quiet  refusals  to  dance, 
and  the  calm  dignity  of  coldness  which  was  her  only 
response  to  the  attentions  of  lords  and  princes. 

To  Paul,  when  first  presented  to  her  by  his  friend  the, 
Chamberlain,  the  stately  Sybil  had  seemed  simply  a  bewild 
ering  marvel  of  beauty.  The  artist  within  him  had  received 
the  entire  impression  ;  and,  engrossed  with  the  study  of  the 


PAULFANE.  09 

wonder,  as  of  a  chance-seen  and  rare  picture,  lie  had 
endeavored  only  to  watch  the  play  of  her  features  as  she 
conversed,  and  so  to  store  up  and  bring  away  some  line  of 
which  his  pencil  might  try  to  copy  the  witchery  on  the 
morrow.  As  the  different  foreigners  left  them,  however, 
and  the  conversation  fell  into  English,  their  common  lan 
guage,  the  Colonel  had  taken  sufficient  interest  in  his  new 
acquaintance  to  propose  that  they  should  find  a  corner  for 
a  chat  at  their  ease ;  and  so,  with  the  inseparable  father 
and  daughter,  Paul  had  commenced  a  "wall-flower"  inter 
course,  which  soon  (between  the  gentlemen,  at  least)  ripened 
into  a  friendship.  In  the  quiet  and  deferential  tone  of  the 
young  stranger's  mind,  the  Colonel  found  something  for 
which  he  insensibly  formed  a  liking,  and  it  increased  as 
they  met  and  exchanged  thoughts,  night  after  night,  in 
the  luxurious  halls  of  the  Pitti ;  though  upon  Paul's  silent 
and  artistic  but  still  very  evident  study  and  appreciation  of 
the  fair  girl  who  was  the  listener  as  they  talked,  he  put 
only  the  interpretation  of  an  unconscious  homage  to  purity 
and  loveliness,  such  as  might  easily  be  the  ground-work  of 
a  passion — though  of  another  secret  of  Paul's  manner 
toward  them  both,  the  deeply-buried  curiosity  in  his  heart 
which  they  had  powerfully  re-awakened,  and  which  they, 
of  all  persons,  seemed  most  likely  to  gratify,  neither  Col 
onel  Paleford  nor  his  daughter  had  the  means  to  form 
even  a  conjecture. 


70  PAUL     FANE. 

And,  of  this  latter  moving-spring  to  the  intercourse 
between  our  hero  and  his  friends,  the  Palefords,  we  shall 
have  more  to  sav,  farther  on. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

OF  Bosh's  dinner  at  the  Firkins's  (for  the  biography  of 
the  two  friends  may  as  well  keep  pace  while  they  are 
rooming  together),  we  shall  have  time  to  give  a  general 
idea  while  the  humble  carryall  of  the  Palefords  is  winding 
its  slow  way  to  the  Pitti.  The  court  ball  was  to  be  late ; 
and  it  was  a  moon  to  loiter  under ;  and  the  three  friends, 
wise  enough  to  realize  that  life  for  that  hour  was  as  enjoy- 
ably  complete  as  human  life  could  well  be,  were  content 
to  let  Giacomo,  the  old  vintager,  who  was  their  driver,  take 
his  time. 

The  "  Palazzo  Firkin,"  the  splendid  residence  of  the 
wealthy  American  family,  had  been  the  abode  of  an 
extravagant  Russian  nobleman,  the  unpronounceableness 
of  whose  name  had  facilitated  the  change  to  its  present 
designation,  and  whose  ruin  and  break-up  had  chanced  to 
occur  about  the  time  of  the  arrival  in  Florence  of  Mr. 
Summutt  Firkin,  of  the  wealthy  firm  of  Firkin,  Splitfig  & 


PAULPANE.  71 

Co.,  wholesale  grocers  of  Cincinnati.  Under  the  direction 
of  his  daughter  (the  family  government  being  an  oligarchy 
of  one — THIA  FIRKIN,  as  Miss  Sophia,  the  heiress  was  com 
monly  called),  the  Prince  had  been  bought  out,  "concern 
and  liabilities" — house,  horses,  furniture,  French  cooks, 
grooms  and  dressing-maids,  all  included — Russia  walking 
out  after  breakfast,  and  America  entering  in  time  to  dress 
for  dinner.  His  ruined  Excellency  having  brought  his 
establishment  to  Italy  by  the  way  of  England,  the  ser 
vants  had  picked  up  English  enough  in  that  country  to 
be  intelligible  to  their  new  household  ;  and,  as  parents  and 
children,  were  thereby  enabled  to  speak  their  mother 
tongue,  and  awkwardness,  if  any  there  were,  was  shifted 
upon  those,  either  guests  or  servants,  to  whom  the  Ohio 
was  unhappily  a  foreign  language,  Mr.  Firkin  found  him 
self,  from  the  start,  quite  as  much  of  a  prince  as  he  had 
any  occasion  to  pay-the-bills-and-be ;  while  Mrs.  Firkin, 
after  a  few  days  of  effort  at  "  realizing,"  was  entirely 
comfortable.  The  eldest  boy,  Master  Rodolphus  Firkin, 
found  the  stable,  with  stanhope  and  "  tiger"  exactly  to  his 
mind ;  and  the  u  fast "  young  lady  of  eighteen,  to  whose 
wheels  in  deep  water  papa  and  mamma  were  but  the 
cecessary  paddle-boxes,  and  to  whose  intended  career, 
kC  abroad,"  all  this  was  but  the  delightful  machinery,  "  went 
ahead." 

With  the  variety  of  governments  in  Italy,  and  the  em- 


72  PAUL    FANE. 

barrassing  difference  in  their  coinage  and  values,  the  "  letter 
of  credit "  is  necessary  to  all  travellers  ;  but  this  does  not 
result  merely  in  drawing  the  amount  on  arrival.  With 
the  presentation  of  the  letter,  the  stranger  and  his  family 
are  invited  to  the  weekly  soiree  of  the  banker,  which  is  a 
candidacy  for  the  other  more  exclusive  circles ;  but  which 
is,  more  particularly,  the  "  stalking-field"  for  the  damaged 
reputations  and  doubtful  titles  and  fortunes  of  which  Italy 
is  the  "  Alsatia."  The  banker's  "  letter  of  advice  "  from  his 
London  or  New  York  correspondent  (preceding  the  travel 
ler),  has  usually  given  some  idea  of  his  financial  conse 
quence  at  home,  and,  this  known,  the  family's  remain 
ing  worth-while-ativeness,  as  acquaintances  to  cultivate,  is 
come-at-able  readily  at  a  soiree.  And  it  was  by  introduc 
tion  under  this  knowledge  and  circumstances,  that  the 
Firkinses  enjoyed  the  distinction  of  their  present  titled 
acquaintances — the  company  who  were  to  meet  Mr.  Blivins 
(Lady  Highsnake,  Baroness  Kuhl,  Sir  Cummit  Strong  and 
Count  Ebenhog)  having  called  at  the  Palazzo  Firkin  after 
an  introduction  at  the  banker's,  and  being  now  almost  the 
daily  appreciators,  both  of  the  brilliant  eccentricities  of  the 
marriageable  daughter  and  of  the  dinners  which  the  Rus 
sian  had  left  in  training. 

To  Bosh,  himself,  Mr.  Firkin  was  a  very  old  acquaint 
ance.  The  "  Blivins  boat "  had  carried  many  a  freight  of 
butter  to  New  Orleans  for  the  house  of  Firkin  &  Splitfig, 


PAUL     FANE.  73 

and  the  very  sight  of  the  son  of  his  old  captain  relieved 
something  of  the  homesickness  of  the  expatriated  grocer, 
lie  had  used  a  degree  of  positiveness  not  very  common 
between  him  and  'Phia,  in  insisting  that  Mr.  Blivins  (who 
had  not  even  an  artistic  repute  at  Florence),  should  be  cor 
dially  welcomed,  at  first ;  though  Bosh  very  soon  estab 
lished  a  footing  for  himself,  in  Miss  Firkin's  approbation, 
and  by  a  little  advcntuie,  which  should  be  given,  in  fact, 
as  the  introduction  to  their  present  friendly  intimacy. 

The  stable  of  Count  Kickubri  chin  off  had  contained  seve 
ral  very  fine  saddle-horses,  of  which  Miss  Firkin,  with  her 
backwoods  education  in  the  heart  of  Kentucky,  was,  of 
course,  likely  to  try  the  metal.  In  fact,  it  was  only  by 
the  addition  of  a  horse  that  she  felt  entirely  herself;  and, 
with  a  groom  behind  her,  and  a  gentleman  companion,  if 
she  could  get  one,  the  "dashing  American  heiress"  was 
soon  a  well  known  object  of  curiosity  among  the  fashion 
able  equipages  on  the  Cascine. 

But,  the  companion  was  the  trouble !  Willing  as  she 
was  to  furnish  the  steed  for  her  two  titled  admirers,  there 
was  no  getting  them  mounted,  after  the  first  essay  in  her 
rapid  company.  Sir  Cummit  was  too  carefully  put  together 
(reputation  and  ivory)  to  stand  such  risks  of  exposure,  and 
Count  Ebenhog,  being  unfortunately  of  the  pitchfork  model 
rather  than  of  the  tongs,  had  a  top-heavy  liability  which 
was  the  drawback  to  his  tall  seat  at  table.  They  might 


74  PAULFANE. 

have  had  other  reasons  for  not  wishing  to  advertise  them 
selves  as  the  followers  of  the  heiress,  but  these  were  given 
as  explanatory  enough,  by  the  head  groom,  who,  to  his 
new  young  lady,  had  taken  a  prodigious  fancy. 

The  proposal  to  ride  the  spare  horse  had  been  made  to 
Blivins  rather  as  a  bagatelle,  he  having  called  at  the 
moment  of  mounting,  and  it  was  somewhat  to  their  sur 
prise  that  the  "  tall  and  awkward  hoosier"  gravely  accepted. 
They  mounted  him  upon  a  powerful  English  hunter,  which 
had  been  the  favorite  of  the  bankrupt  Russian  ;  and,  with 
many  a  caution  from  Bill,  the  groom,  particularly  as  to 
the  use  of  the  spurs,  which  Bosh  requested  might  be  added 
to  his  equipment,  he  followed  his  lady  forth  like  a  true 
knight. 

But  the  hunter  seemed  very  comfortable  and  content 
under  his  new  rider,  and,  as  Miss  Firkin  proceeded  to  try 
experiments  with  her  familiar  palfrey  in  the  open  ground 
of  the  Cascine,  she  discovered  that  her  companion  was  as 
much  at  home  as  herself,  and,  in  fact,  was  one  of  those  men 
recognised  as  a  class  in  the  West,  and  defined  as  "  born  a- 
horseback."  Bosh  kept  like  a  shadow  at  her  side  in  all 
her  vagaries,  and  was  entirely  at  his  ease,  so  that,  on 
their  return  to  the  city  gate,  t-he  belle  had  fallen  into  a  very 
demure  pace,  and  was  riding  like  any  other  lady. 

At  the  gate  ahead  appeared  a  difficulty,  however. 
Across  the  way  stood  a  mounted  dragoon,  and  it  was 


PAUL     FANE.  75 

at  once  understood  that  this  less  frequented  gate  was  reserved 
for  the  day  to  the  use  of  some  of  the  Grand  Duke's  imperial 
relatives  from  Austria,  the  royal  entertainment  being  a  fete 
champetre  at  the  duke's  farm.  In  honor  of  their  Imperial 
transit,  back  and  forward  for  the  afternoon,  that  entrance 
to  the  city  was  under  guard,  and  common  horsemen  and 
carriages  were  to  go  round  by  the  next  gate. 

Now,  to  Miss  Sophia,  this  was  particularly  inconvenient. 
Her  time  had  been  carefully  calculated,  and,  with  a  dinner 
party  at  home  and  a  box  at  the  opera  in  the  evening — toi 
lettes  accordingly — the  additional  circuit  of  the  three  or 
four  miles  was  unbearable. 

"What  shall  I  do?"  she  vexatiously  inquired  of  her 
companion,  after  stating  the  case  to  him,  and  finding  that 
he  had  not  Italian  enough  even  to  request  leave  for  a  lady 
to  pass. 

"  "Why,  there's  but  one  man  that  I  can  see,"  said  Bosh, 
buttoning  up  his  coat,  "  and,  if  it's  merely  him  you  waut 
out  of  the  way  " — 

The  Western  girl  looked  at  Blivins  very  inquiringly. 
Was  he  joking? — or  crazy? — or  was  it  possible  that  ho 
would  do  so  very  hoosier  a  thing  as  encounter  an  armed 
dragoon  for  the  whim  of  a  lady  ? 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  could  remove  that 
mounted  guard  so  that  I  can  pass  ?"  she  asked,  bending  her 
bright  black  eyes  very  searchingly  upon  him. 


76  PAUL    FANE. 

"  Not  if  he  expected  me,"  he  answered,  "  and  I  with  no 
tools — but  as  matters  stand,  we  can  manage  to  get  you 
through,  easy  enough.  We'll  first  get  up  a  pretty  fair 
pace,  as  if  we  saw  no  reason  why  he  should  stop  us,  and 
if  he  puts  out  to  head  us  off,  why,  I'll  clap  spurs  and  ride 
into  him.  You  are  a  lady,  and  it'll  be  natural  to  be 
frightened  and  go  ahead.  He'll  go  over — with  all  that 
trumpery,  and  this  horse  twice  his  weight — and  you'll 
have  time  enough  to  be  out  of  reach  before  he  picks  him 
self  up,  111  warrant." 

"  And  you !"  asked  the  now  excited  girl,  giving  a 
thought  to  her  companion  while  she  felt  her  "Western 
blood  tingle  with  the  prospect  of  adventure. 

"Oh,  I  run  the  same  gauntlet,  said  Blivins,  and  shall 
very  likely,  get  through  too.  So,  turn  on  the  steam !" 

With  a  touch  of  the  spur,  Bosh  waked  up  his  hunter 
very  thoroughly  and  went  prancing  away,  and,  a  little  in 
the  rear,  capered  the  palfrey  of  Miss  Sophia,  With  all 
the  apparent  simplicity  of  "  ignorant  Inglesi "  they  ap 
proached  the  gate ;  and,  as  expected,  the  dragoon  put  his 
charger  forward  a  step  and  waved  his  forbidding  arm. 
The  audacious  riders  kept  on.  Out  flew  the  sword  for  in 
timidation  ;  and  in  the  next  moment,  the  powerful  blood 
hunter  took  the  spurs  up  to  the  rowels,  and,  dashing  to  the 
left  with  a  tremendous  leap,  Bosh  and  his  steed  avalanched 
into  the  lap  and  holsters  of  the  dragoon.  Down  they  went, 


P  A  U  L       F  A  N  E  .  77 

pell  mell,  the  charge  having  been  wholly  unexpected  by 
the  enemy;  but  the  active  hunter,  recovering  his  legs 
while  the  astonished  trooper  was  still  thinking  of  picking 
himself  out  of  the  dirt,  Bosh  clapped  spurs  again  and  fol 
lowed  his  lady — successfully  reaching  the  Palazzo  Firkin, 
after  something  very  like  the  tournament  of  a  cavalier. 

There  was  a  police  arrest,  immediately,  of  course,  and  it 
took  some  intercession  of  Paul,  through  his  friend  the 
Chamberlain,  and  some  considerable  "  damages '-'  from  Mr. 
Firkin,  for  the  damaged  dragoon,  to  get  Bosh  out  of  the 
scrape ;  but  it  established  the  tall  hoosier  in  the  favor  of 
the  Kentucky-bred  girl — one  man,  at  least,  who  would  "  go 
the  whole  "  for  her — and,  at  the  Firkin  dinners  he  became 
thereafter  indispensable. 

We  should  fail  to  give  a  just  idea,  however,  of  the  Amer 
ican  heiress'  campaign  in  Florence,  without  copying  a  let 
ter  of  her  own  which  is  under  our  hand,  and  which  reports 
authentically,  of  course,  her  mode  of  "  carrying  on  the  war.71 
She  thus  writes  (with  the  exception  of  such  corrections  of 
spelling  and  punctuation  as  the  printer  is  requested  to 
make  in  a  manuscript  indicative  of  rather  a  careless  educa 
tion)  to  her  friend  and  schoolfellow,  Miss  Catherine  Kum- 
letts,  of  Rumpusville,  Alabama : — 


78  PAUL     FANE. 

FLORENCE, , . 

DKAREST  KITTY  : 

BY  looking  at  the  bottom  of  the  fourth  page  you  will  see 
that  I  still  write  to  you  "  au  naturel  •''  as  our  French  grammar 
used  to  say,  and  I  beg  to  inform  you,  more  particularly,  that  I  am, 
as  yet,  neither  Lady  Cummit  Strong,  nor  Countess  Ebenhog,  but 
simply  your  old  friend  'Phia  Firkin,  not  much  aggravated  nor 
diminished.  The  above  titles,  however,  being  my  present  imminent 
catastrophes,  I  name  them  at  once,  to  ease  your  anxious  mind. 

La  !  they  do  things  so  differently  here,  Kitty  !  A  girl's  admirers 
have  to  keep  such  a  distance !  You'll  scarce  believe,  now,  that 
these  two  titled  danglers  are  understood  lovers  of  mine,  and  have 
got  their  percussion  caps  all  ready  to  pop,  and  yet  I  have  never 
been  a  minute  alone  with  either  of  them!  "It  is  because  their 
intentions  are  honorable,  my  dear,"  as  old  lady  Highsnake 
expressed  herself,  when  I  named  the  same  phenomenon  to  her ; 
though  how  it  is  any  more  honorable  the  less  acquainted  you  are, 
when  you  marry,  I  could  not  push  her  stiff  old  Ladyship  to  ex 
plain. 

There's  some  difference,  my  dear,  between  Willy  Wonteye'a 
making  love,  for  himself,  in  Kentucky,  and  Count  Ebenhog's  hav 
ing  himself  praised  to  me  by  his  friend  the  Baroness!  It's  funny 
how  two  such  wholly  opposite  experiments  can  go  by  the  same  name ! 
Courting  !  And  not  only  second-hand,  but  from  a  woman,  and  in 
bad  English !  Of  all  the  cold  victuals  in  the  world,  I  think  love 
makes  the  very  worst ! 

They  go  at  it,  these  two  old  women,  as  if  the  mere  repetition  of 
complimentary  speeches  by  two  gentlemen  in  the  blue  distance 
was  going  to  enamor  me,  but  pouring  their  principal  artillery  into 
mamma  and  papa,  and  so  very  accidentally  happening  to  want  to 


PAUL     FANE.  70 

know  how  much  the  governor  intends  giving  his  daughter  !  Such 
dear  little  sweet  peas  as  we  girls  are — expected  to  stay  podded  in 
our  innocent  simplicity  even  till  after  eighteen,  if  we're  not  mar 
ried — just  as  if  I  couldn't  see  out  enough  to  understand  that  these 
venerable  belles  are  trying  each  to  help  an  old  lover  of  her  own  to 
a  rich  young  wife  !  (Though,  to  be  honest  about  this  last  idea,  it 
was  my  French  maid  that  turned  the  gas  on  to  that.} 

But  what  do  you  think  of  me  as  a  "tiger,"  Kitty? — claws  and 
all,  a  veritable  he  tiger  !  Catch  your  breath  while  you  realize — for 
I  was  it — just  that  varmint,  yesterday  afternoon — no  more,  no 
less  !  You  shall  hear  about  it — though  it  is  putting  awful  trust  in 
post-offices  to  write  it  to  you,  and  the  letters  of  the  Editor  of  the 
"Alabama  Eagle"  (your  last  lover,  I  think  you  said  he  was?)  de 
livered  at  the  same  window !  Think  of  those  breeches  of  mine  in 
a  paragraph  !  Bless  us,  Kitty !  take  care ! 

You  must  know,  then,  that  Master  Rodolphus  Firkin,  my  adult 
brother  of  sixteen,  was  going  to  the  races  the  other  day.  He  has 
his  own  horse  and  stanhope,  but  he  wanted  my  mare  Fanny  to 
drive  tandem,  and  as  he  and  I  never  stand  in  each  other's  way,  I 
agreed — only  it  occurred  to  me  that  Bob,  his  tiger,  was  about  my 
size,  and  that  I  should  like  to  see  the  fun  myself,  out  of  a  pair  of 
white-top  boots.  Thus  had  no  objection,  if  I  would  "  go  through 
the  motions ;"  and,  with  a  little  bribing  and  palavering,  I  got  the 
toggery  and  arranged  that  Bob  should  be  missing.  (Money,  in 
this  part  of  the  world,  is  a  trifle  more  omnipotent  than  with  us — a 
fact  you  can  "pot  and  pickle,"  Kitty,  against  you  travel  this  way 
and  have  a  little  odd  want  or  two  yourself!  Few  things  you  can't 
have,  if  you'll  pay  for  them !) 

But  they  are  shaped  a  little  differently  from  us,  after  all,  these 
"same-sized"  youths,  and  we  were  half  the  night,  my  maid  Rosalie 


80  PAUL     FANS. 

and  I,  altering  buttons  and  letting  out  and  taking  in — till,  towarda 
morning,  I  got  waistcoat  and  corduroys  all  right ;  and,  at  the  proper 
time,  next  day,  I  stepped  out  and  opened  the  gate  for  brother 
Thus,  and  hopped  in — "as  like  that  boy  Bob,"  the  old  head  groom 
said,  as  he  ran  his  audacious  eyes  all  over  me,  "  as  there  was  any 
sort  of  necessity  to  be  !" 

Well— away  we  rattled.  'Phus's  horse  Pontiff  is  a  thunderer, 
and  Fanny  was  all  right,  and  on  those  flat  stone  pavements  it  was 
beautiful  wheeling !  I  felt  a  little  funny,  with  my  hair  hid  away 
in  the  top  of  a  hat,  and  my  knees  playing  about  so,  in  separate 
parcels — (small-clothes  show  your  garters  and  are  so  queer!) — but 
'Phus  drove  splendidly,  and  along  we  went  past  the  hotels  and 
cafes,  all  crowded  with  staring  loungers,  and  were  soon  out  in  the 
open  country,  two  as  handsome  and  manly  fellows  as  you'd  any 
day  wish  to  see  !  Oh,  it  felt  so  pleasantly !  I  had  a  creeping  sen 
sation,  the  emotion  of  a  silky  young  moustache,  I'm  very  sure,  just 
under  my  nose,  and  I  have  an  instinct  that  those  are  little  differ 
ences  that  grow  by  thinking  of.  You  know  that's  what  Miss  Dis 
cipline  Jones  used  to  tell  us,  in  her  Lecture  on  "  Volition :"  "  Will" 
she  said,  "  will,  young  ladies!  why  it  would  make  the  hair  come  on 
a  bald  place!"  And  she  had  quite  a  moustache  herself,  the  cross 
old  thing ! 

The  race-ground  was  five  or  six  miles  below  the  town,  on  the 
bank  of  the  river — (trotting  matches  between  gentlemen's  horses) 
— and  all  the  "  fancy  "  were  out,  in  all  sorts  of  "  drags,"  making 
it  very  likely  that  just  what  did  happen  would  happen.  We  were 
u  spilt,"  just  as  we  got  to  the  ground,  and  I  went,  easy  enough, 
into  the  ditch,  hat  and  boots — Major  Phelim  Blankartridge,  the 
wild  Irishman,  whose  phaeton  had  run  into  us,  bowling  away  with 
out  once  looking  over  his  shoulder! 


PAUL     F  A  N  E  .  81 

But  now  comes  the  trouble!  A  wheel  gone,  and  how  to  get 
home!  It's  the  worst  of  an  all-sufficient  gender  that-  nobody 
rushes  to  your  assistance,  in  such  a  case  !  Two  such  saucy-looking 
fellows  (of  course  everybody  thought)  had  nothing  to  do  but  hop 
on  to  their  two  animals  and  make  for  home.  Well  enough  for 
Thus,  perhaps — but  with  no  saddle,  and  me  to  ride  five  miles  like 
a  groom,  bareback !  Oh  Kitty  ! 

Thus  got  me  on,  however,  from  the  top  of  a  stone  wall,  and  on 
we  pottered.  Ah  me  !  Well,  we  reached  Florence,  through  much 
tribulation,  about  sunset.  You  have  no  idea — but  Til  not  harrow 
your  tender  feelings  with  particulars.  It  does  not  seem  to  me, 
now,  that  I  could  ever  have  so  much  mortal  uncomfortableness 
again  !  Those  open  streets  of  Florence,  in  broad  daylight !  And 
me,  obliged  to  look  perfectly  natural !  Oh  !  oh  ! 

Not  much  else  to  write  to  you  about,  dear  Kitty,  though  I 
thought  I  should  have  any  quantity  of  flirtations  to  astonish  you 
with  when  I  got  over  here.  But  as  girls  are  not  allowed  to  choose 
for  themselves,  they  don't  want  them  tampered  with,  I  suppose — 
so  I  don't  get  even  a  nibble.  I  hear  of  a  Mr.  Fane  that  I  mean  to 
set  my  cap  for,  but  he's  an  attache,  and  so  finds  enough  to  do  at 
Court.  Mr.  Blivins,  his  room-mate,  is  a  friend  of  ours,  however, 
and  that'll  bring  him,  perhaps,  in  time.  No  more  at  present,  dear 
Kitty,  from 

Your  affectionate 

THIA  FIRKIN, 

And,  Laving  thus  introduced  the  reader  to  the  company 
with  whom  prosperous  Bosh  was  eating  his  distinguished 
dinner,  while  Paul  was  on  his  evening  visit  to  the  Palc- 

4* 


82  PAUL     FANE. 

fords,  let  us  resume  our  friend's  history  by  overtaking  him, 
later  that  night,  on  his  way  to  the  court  ball  at  the  Pitti. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

IT  was  not  a  bal  pare.  Ladies  were  not  needlessly 
"trained"  and  feathered — gentlemen  not  cumbrously  gold- 
laced  and  sworded.  Everything  was  royally  sumptuous, 
but  everybody  (or  at  liberty  to  be)  simply  comfortable. 
It  was  the  best  that  the  wealthiest  sovereign  of  Europe 
could  do,  in  a  capital  that  is  another  name  for  Art  and 
Taste,  to  supply  the  maddening  incompletenesses  of  a  first 
night  of  June.  The  music,  the  perfume  of  the  flowers,  the 
skillful  and  marvellous  illuminations,  the  surprises  of  archi 
tecture,  and  the  effects  upon  statuary  and  pictures — these 
and  the  other  luxuries  of  the  palace  were  blended  into  an 
enchantment  as  tangible  and  satisfying  as  it  was  strange 
and  wonderful ;  and  it  was  felt  to  leave  nothing  unan 
swered  in  the  dreamy  moonlight  out  of  doors,  nothing 
unsupplied  of  which  that  atmosphere  of  Heaven  awoke 
the  spirit-hunger  and  thirst. 

The  Palefords  had  come  late ;  and  the  father  having 
transferred  his  daughter  to  Paul's  arm,  they  loitered  lei- 


PAUL     FANE.  83 

surely  through  the  long  galleries  and  ante-rooms,  wonder 
ing  over  the  profusion  of  rare  flowers,  and  now  and  then 
listening  in  breathless  silence  to  some  more  exquisite  turn 
of  the  music  in  the  distance ;  but  they  reached  the  recep 
tion-room  at  last — unwillingly,  on  Paul's  part — and  at  a 
critical  moment,  as  it  chanced.  The  Grand  Duke,  for  the 
first  time  since  the  death  of  the  duchess,  had  consented  to 
lay  aside  his  saddened  reserve,  and  was  about,  to  mingle  in 
the  dance.  As  Miss  Paleford  appeared  upon  the  threshold, 
it  seemed  to  decide  a  question  in  his  mind  ;  and,  meeting 
the  trio  half-way  as  they  advanced  to  be  presented,  he  took 
the  hand  of  the  English  girl — his  royal  invitation,  of  course 
overruling  what,  to  one  of  any  lesser  rank,  would  have  been 
a  refusal — and  led  her  out  for  the  quadrille. 

"  Will  you  find  a  partner,  and  make  us  a  vis-a-vis  ?"  she 
said  to  Paul,  with  a  slight  retention  of  his  arm,  and  in  a 
voice  intended  to  express  a  wish  for  the  duke's  hearing. 

But  Paul  followed  rather  an  instinct  of  his  own.  He 
did  not  take  advantage  of  the  consent  that  was  in  the 
duke's  momentary  hesitation  and  look  of  inquiry;  and 
the  quadrille,  in  the  next  instant,  being  made  up  without 
him,  he  found  a  stand  where  he  could  be  alone  and  unob 
served.  To  be  a  silent  spectator  of  that  dance  was  his 
need,  scarce  explainable. 

His  majesty's  departure  from  a  reserve  which  had  been 
somewhat  oppressive,  was  a  novelty  that  went  electrically 


84  PAUL     FANE.. 

through  the  rooms ;  and,  by  the  time  that  the  other  sets 
were  formed  with  some  attention  to  precedence  and  eti 
quette,  the  dancing-hall  had  become  crowded  with  lookers- 
on.  Upon  the  raised  platforms  at  the  sides,  gathered  the 
jewelled  throng  of  dowagers  and  their  attendant  princes 
and  ambassadors ;  and  in  the  corners  and  recesses  of  the 
room  clustered  all  that  was  in  Florence,  that  night,  of 
either  honored  or  illustrious.  The  duchess-mother,  pleased 
with  her  son's  resumption  of  his  royal  place  amid  the  gay- 
eties  of  the  court,  looked  down  upon  the  dance  with  her 
sweet,  effortless  smile  ;  and  Colonel  Paleford,  who  had  con 
tinued  to  converse  with  Her  Grace  after  the  reception, 
stood  now  with  his  noble  and  erect  figure  distinguished 
above  all  the  royal  coterie,  listening  with  quiet  pride  to  the 
appreciative  comments  upon  his  daughter. 

It  was  a  chance  tableau,  upon  which  the  whole  court 
was  now  bending  its  eye ;  but  Paul  felt,  the  moment  his 
gaze  took  in  the  lovely  vision,  that,  in  the  artistic  atmos 
phere  of  the  Pitti  Palace,  the  world's  inner  sanctuary  of 
Genius's  recognition  of  Beauty,  it  was  impossible  for  any 
but  one  thought  to  be  suggested  by  the  figure  of  Sybil. 
There  stood  one  who,  by  Nature's  unmistakable  moulding, 
should  have  been  a  Queen !  By  the  efforts  of  the  cham 
berlain,  on  seeing  Leopold  bring  a  partner  to  the  dance, 
the  quadrille  had  been  completed  from  the  rank  that 
would  best  grace  the  movement  with  a  welcome,  and,  with 


PAUL     FANE  85 

the  exception  of  Miss  Paleford,  it  was  a  carre  of  only  royal 
descent — princes  and  princesses  completing  the  sett  while 
she  danced  with  the  Sovereign. 

Over  the  gentle  and  intellectual  countenance  of  the 
Grand  Duke  there  was  the  expression  of  admiring  tender 
ness  which  was  natural.  He  evidently  forgot  state  and 
sceptre  in  watching  his  partner  as  she  moved.  The  tall 
figure  that  would  have  been  too  majestic  but  for  its  cloud- 
like  airiness  of  grace — the  imprint  just  less  than  pride  on 
those  wonderfully  clear-cut  features,  yet  their  indefinable 
loftiness  and  supremacy — the  infantine  abandonment  of 
every  nerve  and  muscle  to  instinct,  yet  the  inevitable  ele 
gance  which  Art  finds  so  difficult — the  entire  perfectness 
of  that  unconscious  girl,  in  white,  and  without  an  orna 
ment,  as  a  creature  of  God  indisputably  queenlier,  as  well 
as  simpler  and  fairer  than  all  around — it  was  seen  to  be 
impossible  that  the  owner  and  daily  reader-aright  of  the 
world's  best  pictures  and  statuary  was  not  reading  aright, 
also,  this  warm  and  breathing  masterpiece  at  his  side. 
Was  there  likely  to  be  a  single  heart,  among  all  those 
eager  watchers  of  this  passing  drama  of  a  moment, 
through  which  there  did  not  pass  a  sigh  for  the  mo 
narch — something  like  pity  for  even  a  throne,  to  which 
such  beauty  as  that  could  not  be  lifted  ?  Paul  thought  not. 

But  while  Fane's  earnest  eyes  were  looking  with  their 
utmost  intensity  upon  the  picture  that  so  occupied  the 


86  PAUL     FANE. 

court,  he  became  aware  that  he  was  closely  observed  by 
Colonel  Paleford  ;  and  it  flashed  across  his  mind  (as  he 
afterwards  had  occasion  to  remember)  that,  though  his 
absorbed  manner  had  told  truly  of  the  entireness  of  his 
admiring  homage,  the  causes  and  character  of  that  hom 
age  might  still  be  misunderstood.  Of  the  two  interests 
which  he  felt  in  the  scene,  either  of  which  might  give  to 
his  gaze  the  apparent  concentration  of  enamored  worship, 
his  friend  had  no  means  of  forming  even  a  single  conjec 
ture. 

As  an  artist  only,  Paul  would  have  been  sufficiently 
engrossed.  In  the  English  girl,  at  that  moment,  there 
was  a  singularly  rare  model  of  beauty,  seen  with  start 
ling  accessories  of  effect,  and  under  the  same  roof  and 
with  the  same  atmosphere  as  the  creations  of  Titian 
and  Raphael — a  lesson  for  the  evasive  appreciation  and 
memory,  such  as  the  intensest  study  would  but  imper 
fectly  bring  away.  How  look  enough  into  that  large 
grey  eye,  while  the  flattery,  of  a  sovereign,  the  music 
of  a  palace,  the  utmost  stimulants  of  pride  and  feeling, 
were  calling  every  possible  charm  into  its  expression  ? 
How  watch  closely  enough  the  pose  of  the  faultless  neck, 
when  there  was  more  need  than  ever  before  that  the 
superb  head  should  be  carried  proudly  ?  How  reluc 
tantly  would  he  lose  any  shade  of  play  in  those  admira 
ble  features^  when,  to  remember  and  paint  her,  as  she 


PAUL     FANE.  87 

reigned  in  beauty  at  that  moment,  might  be  a  whole 
drama  for  the  genius  of  his  pencil  ?  All  this,  and  a 
world  more  of  stimulating  thought  was  giving  electric 
vitality  to  the  gaze  of  the  artist  only. 

But  the  curiosity  which  was  his  still  more  secret 
errand  of  travel — and  to  the  thirsting  want  of  which, 
that  instance  of  peculiar  beauty,  with  the  accompaniments 
of  the  place  and  hour,  chanced  to  be  just  the  ministration 
most  satisfying  !  It  would  have  been  an  event  to  him  to 
have  seen  Sybil  Paleford — even  if  it  had  been  only  in 
retirement.  There  was  upon  her  the  undeniable  mark 
of  that  amalgam  of  which  he  most  wished  to  know  tho 
grain  and  lustre — Nature's  finest  and  purest  clay.  She 
was  the  perfection  of  pride  in  mould  and  mien,  as  she 
was  of  tender  expressiveness  in  beauty.  Yet  capable  as 
he  now  felt  of  judging  of  this,  there  was,  as  it  chanced, 
that  night — in  the  unanimous  homage  paid  to  it  also  by 
a  sovereign  and  his  court — priceless  corroborationf  Around 
her  stood  the  fairest  flowers  of  the  Tuscan  nobility,  several 
illustrious  visitors  from  the  other  royal  races  of  Europe, 
noble  travellers  from  England,  and  the  bright  circle  which 
the  Pitti  gathers  in  the  families  brought  by  the  diplomacy 
of  all  courts  within  its  walls.  Never,  probably,  was  there 
more  of  high-born  beauty  together,  and  never  was  dress 
or  decoration  more  at  liberty  to  be  becomingly  worn — 
yet  this  simple  girl,  in  an  unadorned  dress  of  white,  made 


88  PAUL     FANE. 

by  her  mother's  needle,  and  with  her  golden-edged  braids 
of  brown  hair  laid  to  the  mere  shape  of  the  head  by  her 
mother's  fingers,  queened  it  over  all !  Envy  was  silent. 
Jealousy  was  taken  by  surprise.  She  had  come,  that 
night,  to  be  an  unobserved  wall- flower  only  at  the  ball. 
But,  by  the  chance  choice  of  the  monarch,  she  had  been 
throned  for  a  passing  moment  where  Nature  would  have 
given  her  the  crown,  and  to  that  suddenly  apparent 
sovereignty  of  beauty  in  its  place,  every  courtly  heart 
resistlessly  dropped  the  knee  ! 

That  Paul  was  the  artist  to  see,  in  this  unpainted  picture 
of  real  life,  a  more  adorable  masterpiece  than  ever  stood 
upon  an  easel — that  a  morbid  secret  of  his  own  heart 
gave  him  the  key  to  read,  in  all  its  force  and  meaning, 
that  poem  of  breathing  beauty,  so'  far  deeper  and  more 
dazzlingly  inspired  than  was  ever  moulded  into  verse — 
were  two  unseen  fires  burning  under  the  glow  of  his 
gaze ;  and,  that  it  looked,  to  the  watchful-eyed  father 
of  that  beautiful  girl,  like  the  unmistakable  enhancement 
of  a  passion  undeclared — one  upon  the  strength  of  which, 
at  least,  the  happiness  of  a  beloved  child  might  safely  be 
staked — was  in  no  way  wonderful.  As  a  parent  keenly 
alive  to  the  uncertain  provision  which  his  own  pensioned 
life  gave  to  his  daughter,  and  anxious  therefore  that  she 
should  marry,  but  who,  still,  above  all  worldly  require 
ments  in  a  suitor,  would  demand  the  elevating  romance 


PAUL       FANE.  89 

of  a  most  genuine  natural  attachment,  such  appearances 
would,  of  course,  be  stored  away.  And,  with  the  habitual 
alarm  of  the  proud  spirit  of  Sybil  herself  at  the  possibility 
of  any  mercenary  disposal  of  her  hand,  it  was  the  more 
important  to  watch  well  that  such  approaches  as  she  did 
approve  were,  at  least,  what  she  thought  them. 

And  here  we  must  take  the  liberty  to  think  better  of 
the  reader  than  most  novelists  think  of  theirs.  Our 
story,  as  one  of  real  life,  must  turn  on  very  trifling 
circumstances — the  popular  novelist,  now-a-days,  seeming 
to  suppose  that  the  turning  point  of  his  narrative  will 
not  look  probable  or  interesting  unless  hinged  upon  a 
startling  event.  We  have  not  found  that  the  destinies 
in  which  we  were  interested  were  wrought  out  by  such 
invariably  large  machinery.  Coincidences  and  catastro 
phes,  surprises  and  crises — common  enough  in  vulgar  life, 
and  doubtless  necessary  to  a  melo-drama — have  been 
strangely  wanting  in  the  equally  trying  experiences  of 
the  gentlemen  and  ladies  we  have  known.  A  moment, 
or  a  look,  has  decided  very  critical  culminations  of  the 
destinies  we  have  had  the  privilege  of  watching,  and 
we  shall  therefore  trust  the  reader  to  be  willin^,  that 

O" 

of  such  moment  or  look  we  should  give  the  unstiited 
history. 

As  the  royal  quadrille  came  to  a  close,  a  little  drama 
of  unconfessed  embarrassment  fell  into  action — three 


90  PAUL     FANE. 

minds  becoming  suddenly  occupied  with  the  decision 
that  was  to  be  made  by  a  single  glance,  and  upon  a 
matter  of  apparently  very  little  importance.  Taken  as 
Miss  Paleford  had  been  from  the  arm  of  Mr.  Fane,  to 
be  led  to  the  dance,  he  might,  without  any  violation  of 
propriety,  receive  her  again,  or  she  might,  a  little  more 
etiquettically,  perhaps,  be  handed  to  the  charge  of  her 
father.  To  the  duke,  of  course,  the  disposal  of  his 
partner  would  be  in  simple  accordance  with  the  hither- 
ward  movement  of  the  hand  he  held ;  but  the  look  which 
the  stately  Sybil  should  give,  to  summon  to  her  side  the 
one  who  was  to  receive  her,  was  the  subject  of  her  own 
thoughts,  as  the  moment  approached,  while,  to  both  the 
gentlemen  who  stood  awaiting  the  decision,  it  was  for 
unconfessed  reasons,  a  problem  of  rather  lively  anxiety. 

With  a  woman's  tact  of  perception,  the  beautiful  girl 
felt  that,  as  the  transfer  to  the  care  of  another,  after  the 
dance,  was  to  bo  from  the  sovereign's  hand,  and  with  the 
attention  of  the  whole  court  upon  her,  she  could  not 
return  to  the  charge  of  her  mere  companion  in  a  prome 
nade  without  a  conspicuousness  the  allowance  of  which,  on 
her  part,  would  be  the  admission  of  a  complimentary  pre 
ference.  Such  was  the  degree  of  possible  confidingness 
between  herself  and  Paul,  however,  that  to  prefer  being 
consigned  to  her  father's  charge,  was  to  avoid  at  least  an 
opportunity  to  resume  the  conversation  interrupted  by  the 


PAUL     FANE.  91 

dance,  and  this,  again,  might  be  construed  as  indifference. 
And  while  this  dilemma  was  presenting  itself  to  her  mind, 
she  was  not  unaware  of  the  intense  interest  with  which,  it 
will  be  remembered,  Paul  was  gazing  on  her  beauty. 

But,  in  Fane's  part  of  this  wordless  drama,  there  were 
conflicting  elements  which  the  others  did  not  quite  under 
stand.  He  had  been  made  aware  (as  was  mentioned),  by 
a  chance-seen  expression  in  Colonel  Paleford's  face,  that, 
whatever  was  thought  to  be  the  motive  of  his  own  absorbed 
gaze  at  Miss  Sybil,  there  was  no  disapproval  of  it.  On  the 
contrary,  there  was  something  very  like  the  tenderness  of 
parental  interest  and  encouragement  in  the  gently  forward 
posture  and  thoughtful  smile  with  which  he  found  himself 
regarded.  This  suggested  a  possibility  of  which  Paul  had 
not  hitherto  dreamed,  that  his  own  assiduous  cultivation 
of  the  friendship  of  the  high-bred  Englishman — mainly  the 
following  out  of  an  unavowed  interest  in  him  as  the  finest 
specimen  he  had  yet  seen  of  lofty  courtliness  of  nature — 
might  have  been  interpreted,  by  his  inseparable  daughter, 
as  the  betrayal  of  a  passion  for  herself.  In  the  lapse  of 
but  a  cadence  or  two  of  the  music  of  the  band,  his  memory 
had  made  a  retrospect  with  crowds  of  conflicting  disprovals 
and  confirmations  (the  strongest  among  the  latter  being 
her  pointed  request  that  he  would  dance  opposite  when 
she  was  to  be  partner  to  the  duke),  but  he  now  stood 
waiting  to  know  whether  he  was  to  be  called  to  her  side 


92  PAUL     FANS. 

again  at  the  close  of  the  dance — balancing,  precisely  as  her 
own  perception  was  doing,  the  evidence  that  optional  sum 
mons  would  contain,  as  to  her  feeling  towards  him. 

The  quadrille  was  within  an  instant  of  breaking  up,  and 
Paul  observed  that  Colonel  Paleford  had  not  left  the  side 
of  the  duchess-mother.  His  eyes  were  eagerly  fixed  on 
his  daughter,  however,  and  it  was  evidently  his  intention 
to  leave  it  to  her  own  look  to  decide  whether  he  should 
step  forward  to  receive  her  from  her  royal  partner. 

"  Does  Mr.  Fane  ever  expect  to  get  his  eyes  back  from 
that  charming  vision  ?"  at  this  moment  said  a  low  musical 
voice  just  behind  him. 

Paul   turned   to    the   Princess    C ,   whose   slightly 

accented  but  pure  and  fluent  English  was  familiar  to  him, 
and  he  was  but  half  through  the  response  which  civility 
required,  when  the  music  stopped !  A  glance  !  He  was 
but  half  too  late  !  With  a  look  that  was  unmistakably 
shaded  with  a  reproach,  Miss  Paleford  was  turning  to  the 
side  where  stood  her  father,  and  he  hurriedly  reverted  to 
make  the  best  of  the  unforeseen  interruption  and  follow — 
but  the  princess  was  alone. 

"  Shall  I  take  your  arm  to  the  garden  ?  "  she  said,  tak 
ing  it,  at  the  same  moment,  with  the  quiet  authority  of  one 
accustomed  to  have  her  way,  and  following  the  crowd,  who 
were  now  scattering  off,  after  the  dance,  to  the  lighted 
labyrinths  of  the  Boboli. 


PAUL     FANE.  93 

And,  with  the  first  turn  on  the  fragrant  garden  terrace, 
leading  from  the  palace-porch — the  colored  lamps  strug 
gling  with  the  moonlight,  the  music  of  the  band  softening 
out  at  the  windows  to  the  night-air,  and  everything  appa 
rently  attuned  with  irresistible  timeliness  and  sweetness  rto 
love  and  love  only — he  passed  Miss  Paleford,  leaning  on 
the  arm  of  her  father. 

With  the  well-known  character  of  his  companion  for 
willful  lawlessness  and  fascination,  Paul  could  not  pos 
sibly  have  been  in  more  unlucky  company  for  the  aggrava 
tion  of  his  contrarieties  of  position.  The  look  he  exchanged 
with  his  friends  in  passing  could  explain  nothing.  He 
even  felt,  a  moment  after,  that,  with  the  apparent  misun 
derstanding  of  his  feelings  toward  themselves,  it  would  be 
but  an  embarrassment  to  offer  explanation,  were  he  to  be 
alone  with  them  again.  Better  to  have  time,  at  least,  for 
some  clearer  light  upon  it,  he  thought ;  and  it  was  with 
this  need  for  seeing  no  more  of  the  Palefords,  that  night, 
that  he  accepted  an  invitation  from  the  princess,  of  which 
our  next  chapter  will  say  more. 


CHAPTER  X. 

To  wind  up  a  ball  with  a  breakfast-party  was  one  of  the 
specialities  of  the  eccentric  princess  who  had  taken  Paul's 
arm  after  the  quadrille ;  and,  while  he  was  yet  puzzling 
his  brain  over  his  dilemma  with  the  Palefords,  he  was 
bespoken  for  a  gathering  of  choice  spirits  to  whose  table 

the  sunrise  should  be  the  lamp.  The  villa  G ,  amid 

whose  witcheries  of  rural  beauty  and  luxury  these  untimely 
gaieties  were  held,  was  on  the  slope  of  one  of  the  emi 
nences  beyond  FiesoU,  four  or  five  miles  from  Florence  ; 
and,  Paul  having  accepted  the  offered  seat  in  her  High- 
ness's  britzka,  they  whirled  punctually  away  from  the  Pa 
lace  gate  as  the  morning  star  rose  in  the  east — the  carriages 
crowding  to  the  door  for  the  departing  guests,  but  the 
music  still  measuring  gay  vigils  for  the  dancers  within. 

As  the  only  person  of  very  high  rank  whom  he  had  yet 
seen  who  differed  from  other  people  by  acting  out  an 
e very-day  consciousness  of  birthright  (eccentricity,  it  was 
called  by  her  friends,  and  less  amiably  designated  by  com 
mon  rumor),  the  Princess  C had  an  additional  inter- 

94 


PAULFANE.  95 

est  to  Paul.  By  natural  character,  she  seemed,  to  him, 
simply  eagle-born  among  the  sparrows  of  society.  At  the 
same  time  that  she  willingly  offended  no  one,  nor  took  the 
trouble  to  defy  any  prejudice  or  usage,  she  had  no  recog 
nition  of  a  restraint.  Her  habit  of  mind  seemed  a  tran 
quillity  of  mood — or  disregard  of  what  would  irritate  other 
people — from  a  mere  sense  of  superiority.  And  this  supe 
riority  would  have  been  thought  to  be  seldom  or  never 
asserted,  probably,  but  that  her  supreme  indifference  was 
unpardonably  offensive — keeping  her  in  a  constant  attitude 
of  contempt  for  what,  under  the  soft  name  of  "  appear 
ances"  constitutes  the  covert  supremacy  of  the  Many. 
With  better  blood  in  her  veins  than  could  be  found  in  a 

suitor  for  her  hand,  the  Princess  C had  still  made 

a  match  of  family  interest.  She  was  married  young  to  a 
man  of  rank  and  of  great  wealth,  considerably  older  than 
herself;  and  as,  after  the  first  year  or  two  of  wedded  life, 
they  had  seldom  resided  in  the  same  city,  it  was  presuma 
ble  that  their  tempers  were  not  very  congenial — though,  as 
the  public  were  not  admitted  to  their  secrets,  the  separa 
tion  was  not  recognisable  by  etiquette.  With  plenty  of 
means,  and  a  position  at  any  court  unexceptionable,  she 
made  a  home  in  one  city  of  Italy  after  another,  returning 
oftenest  to  Florence,  however,  which  she  much  preferred, 

and  where  the  villa  G ,  in  the  suburbs,  was  kept  in 

luxurious  readiness  for  her  use. 


96  PAUL     FANE. 

Quite  idolized  by  the  few  with  whom  she  chose  to  be 
intimate,  and  pleasing  nobody  else,  the  fascinating  princess 
could  hardly  appear,  to  any  court  eyes,  otherwise  than  dan 
gerous  to  one  of  Fane's  age  and  inexperience — the  merely 
being  seen  in  attendance  upon  her,  when,  by  propriety,  he 
should  have  remained  (as  he  had  intended  to  do)  at  the 
disposal  of  another,  having  the  look  of  a  neglect  which 
was  the  result  of  a  self-evident  preference. 

The  endeavor  to  convince  himself  that  the  Palefords 
must  have  understood  the  awkwardness  of  his  position, 
and,  with  this,  a  half-conscious  comparison  of  the  exquisite 
beauty  of  Sybil  with  the  reclining  form  thrown  back  in 
the  carriage,  and  just  visible  by  the  gray  light  of  the  dawn, 
as  they  whirled  along,  was  the  counter-current  of  thought, 
which,  for  the  moment,  somewhat  hindered  Paul's  flow  of 
conversation. 

Though  wholly  of  another  mould  than  the  English  girl, 
there  was  beauty  in  what  he  looked  upon,  however.  The 
princess  was,  at  this  time,  about  thirty — and  of  a  most 
ethereal  slightness  of  figure.  It  was  her  peculiarity  of 
appearance  that,  with  the  airy  and  spirituelle  proportions 
which  usually  accompany  a  nervous  habit,  she  was  of  such 
wondrous  indolence  of  movement.  Paul  thought  this 
repose,  at  first,  to  be  the  language  of  a  period  of  life — 
thinking  there  might  be  an  emotional  lull,  for  a  woman  of 
thirty,  corresponding  to  the  calm  of  mid-forenoon  after  the 


PAUL     FANE.  97 

breezes  of  a  summer's  morning.  But  however  this  might 
have  confirmed  it,  the  temperament  itself,  he  soon  found, 
was  the  tranquillity  of  a  nature  in  which  the  nerves,  as  well 
as  the  coarser  sensibilities,  had  felt  the  control  of  pride. 
Her  natural  instinct  of  superiority,  though  of  birth  and 
rank,  was  intellectual — and,  at  the  same  time  that  it  con 
stituted,  for  her,  a  presence  which  refused  to  be  subjective 
to  the  presence  of  others,  it  insisted  on  supremacy  over  her 
self.  Her  limbs  knew  no  motion  that  was  not  gracefully 
deliberate.  Her  unvarying  paleness,  and  her  exquisitely 
subdued  modulations  of  voice,  were  parts  of  the  same  self- 
mastery.  It  was  only  in  the  covert  fires  of  those  black 
eyes,  so  almost  unnaturally  large  and  lustrous — partly  soft 
ened  as  they  were  by  the  apparent  languor  of  the  droop 
ing  lids  with  their  sweep  of  overhanging  lashes — that  the 
capabilities  of  her  character  were  betrayed.  While,  to 
common  observers,  the  delicate,  pale  face,  with  its  care 
lessly  idle  lips  and  dreamy  look,  was  expressive  of  mere 
indolence  and  indifference,  it  would  be  startlingly  appa 
rent,  to  a  closer  student  of  expression,  that,  under  the  soft 
moonlight  of  such  repose  lay  asleep  a  volcano  of  character. 

The  Yilla  G was  a  small  paradise  of  luxury,  and 

each  expected  guest,  on  arriving  from  the  gaieties  of  the 
city,  was  shown  into  an  apartment  that  would  content  a 
Sybarite.  With  the  few  minutes  of  solitude  thus  gained, 
Paul's  buoyant  health  rallied  from  fatigue  and  care,  and,  as 

5 


98  PAUL     FANE. 

h^stepped  out  upon  the  lawn,  it  was  in  spirits  with  which 
the  just  waked  lark  sung  in  tune.  To  the  princess  it  was 
veritable  morning;  for  her  habitual  day  was  from  mid 
night  to  siesta,  and  she  had  risen  from  well-timed  sleep  to 
dress  for  the  duke's  ball.  As  she  made  her  appearance 
presently,  in  her  favorite  costume  of  turban  and  npgliyc, 
her  profusion  of  black  locks  over  her  shoulders,  and  hei 
girdle  of  golden  cord  swinging  from  her  waist — (the  tassels 
kissing  each  arching  instep  as  it  appeared,  as  if  to  call 
attention  to  the  exquisite  beauty  of  those  deliberate  little 
feet) — Paul  could  not  but  give  a  sigh  for  his  pencil.  It 
was  a  picture  of  the  inexplicably  patrician  air — beauty 
made  unimportant  by  the  elegance  and  maintien  that  out 
did  it — of  which  he  would  have  well  liked  to  use  that 
morning  light  in  making  a  study. 

The  sliding  windows  of  the  breakfast- room  opened  it 
entirely  to  the  main  plateau  of  the  garden,  and  the  close- 
shaven  greensward  of  the  lawn  meeting  the  carpet,  it  was 
an  apartment  half  sparkling  with  dew,  in  which  the  guests 
now  assembled.  Every  object  was  glowing  with  the  rosy 
light  kindling  in  the  east,  and  the  fragrance  of  the  moist 
earth  and  flowers  filled  the  room.  On  a  table  covered 
with  the  most  consummate  temptations  for  the  appetite, 
the  rays  of  the  rising  sun  began  to  slant ;  and,  as  coffee 
was  served  to  them,  lounging  in  their  luxurious  fauteuils, 
a  wondrous  morning  of  Italy  seemed  in  attendance  on  their 


PAUL     FANE  99 

pleasure — parading  for  them,  while  they  feasted,  its  spells 
of  splendor. 

They  were  not  long  at  table — restraint  being  the  ex 
cluded  spirit  in  the  princess's  ideal  of  her  own  rightful 
sphere — and  (the  company,  of  course,  being  such  couples 
as  could  be  pleased  to  prolong  a  night's  gaieties  by  a 
matinee)  the  labyrinths  of  the  grounds  were  more  inviting. 
With  the  beauty  and  fragrance  of  sunrise,  the  terraces  and 
groves,  shaded  alleys,  grottoes  and  arbors  of  the  Villa 

G formed  a  wilderness  of  enchantment.  Paul,  as  a 

comparative  stranger,  was  understood  to  be  the  object  of 
interest  for  the  moment  to  the  hostess  herself;  and,  after  a 
turn  or  two  in  groups  around  the  fountains  and  statuary 
in  the  centre,  each  couple  took  its  separate  path  for  a 
ramble. 

"  The  sun  is  like  other  every-day  visitors,"  said  Paul, 
while  the  servant  was  bringing  cushions  for  the  stone  seat 
at  which  the  princess  was  halting  for  a  lounge ;  "  his  com 
ing  and  his  going  are  more  agreeable  than  his  stay.  What 
noon  is  equal  to  a  dawn  or  a  sunset  2" 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  and  it  is  a  pity  we  cannot  sleep  away 
the  middle  of  a  visit  as  we  do  the  middle  of  a  day.  But, 
to  think  of  society's  wonderful  slavery  to  habits,  when,  at 
this  most  luxuriously  beautiful  hour  of  the  whole  twenty- 
four,  the  classes  who  could  best  appreciate  it  are  asleep  in 
their  beds." 


100  PAUL     FANE. 

"Few,  except  people  of  genius,  see  things  with  first 
eyes"  he  replied. 

"  But  it  should  be  clear  enough,  even  to  borrowed  eyes," 
she  continued,  "for  never  is  Nature  half  so  beautiful — the 
dew  giving  a  brighter  color  to  the  grass  and  foliage,  and  a 
fresher  atmosphere  over  everything.  And  then  the  birds 
particularly  musical  and  the  flowers  particularly  fragrant — 
why,  it  seems  marked,  over  and  over  again,  by  Nature,  for 
an  hour  to  be  observed  and  enjoyed !" 

"And  yet  indebted  to  your  Highness,  I  presume,"  said 
Paul,  "  for  its  very  first  admission  into  polite  society.  I 
never  before  heard,  at  least,  of  a  pleasure-party  given  to 
titled  guests  at  sunrise,  and  what  does  the  mention  of 
*  dawn  of  day '  suggest,  but  laborious  poverty  and  the  being 
unwillingly  astir  betimes  ?" 

"My  recognition  of  the  day's  best  hour,  then,"  re 
commenced  the  princess,  after  a  reverie  which  Paul  had 
respected,  "  is  something  like  my  preferences,  in  society. 
The  men,  particularly,  that  are  least  thought  of,  are,  so 
very  often,  Nature's  best !" 

"  You  like  us,  I  suppose,"  said  Paul,  "  men  or  mornings, 
when  we  are  not  past  blushing  ?" 

"  Yes — rosy  morn  or  rosy  men,"  laughed  the  Princess, 
"  particularly  if  the  men  blush  as  you  do  now,  with  saying 
a  good  thing.  But  that  does  not  explain  my  preference, 
quite." 


PAUL     #  A  N  fc: 

"  Nor  will  any  one  ideal,  certainly,"  lie  suggested  again. 

"  No,  for  I  am  speaking  of  men  for  a  woman's  set  of 
friendships,  not  for  her  one  passion,"  she  replied  ;  "  and 
though  there  are  fewer  of  the  class  I  prefer,  there  may  be, 
in  an  ordinary  round  of  acquaintance,  more  than  one  of 
them — of  men  particularly  gifted  by  Nature,  I  mean." 

"But  these  are  oftenest  men  of  genius,"  objected  her 
now  earnest  listener;  "poets  and  artists,  scholars  and  au 
thors,  who  are  poor  and  obscure." 

"As  society  is  constituted,"  she  continued,  "the  grands 
seigneurs,  even  with  birth  and  fortune  only  for  recom 
mendations,  are  undoubtedly  the  best  to  marry.  So  much 
for  the  pedestal  and  the  rough-hewing,  which  are  to  mark 
the  elevation  and  outline  the  purpose.  But  it  is  the  ex 
pression  that  is  to  breathe  through  the  statue  which  is  to 
constitute  its  after-value  and  superiority  to  other  blocks, 
and  how  is  this  to  be  given  without  something  besides  the 
shaping  of  mediocrity  ?  That  is  what  I  wonder  at  women's 
not  seeing,  as  you  express  it,  with  '  first  eyes  !'  Inter 
course  with  common  minds  so  strangely  contents  them  ! 
How  seldom  does  a  woman  of  rank  give  herself  a  thought 
as  to  whether  she  is  visited  by  the  intellectually  high-born 
or  low-born  !  Content  with  her  court  acquaintances,  she 
has,  perhaps,  not  a  man  of  genius  on  her  list !" 

"  It  is  probably  more  because  he  is  badly  gloved,  than, 
because  she  is  badly  educated,"  said  Paul. 


102  :PA*U-<L     FANE. 

"  Ah !  but  wait  till  better  gloves  make  her  prefer  a 
count's  hand  to  a  duke's,"  she  once  more  insisted.  "Wo 
men  are  quick-sighted  in  most  things,  and  the  wonder  to 
me  is,  that  the  same  pride  which  makes  them  ambitious  as 
to  title,  house,  equipage  and  dress,  does  not  suggest  also 
some  corresponding  aristocracy  of  conversation." 

"Is  it  not  vanity  that  makes  the  choice,"  asked  Paul; 
"or,  at  least,  an  instinctive  dread  that  intellectual  conver 
sation  may  demand  too  much,  or  otherwise  have  less  flat 
tery  in  it  ?" 

"  Why,  there,  I  think,"  more  eagerly  argued  the  prin 
cess,  "  you  touch  upon  the  strangest  mystery  of  all !  What 
so  delicious  to  a  woman's  vanity  as  the  subtle  appreciation 
which  she  can  get  from  genius  only !  Common-place 
minds  make  very  common-place  compliments,  it  seems  to 
me,  and  there  is  scarce  a  woman  in  the  world  who  has 
not  some  beauty  or  grace  likely  to  go  unrecognized  among 
dull  people." 

"It  would  delight  an  artist  to  listen  to  your  highness," 
said  Paul,  almost  afraid  that  his  concealed  allusion  to  his 
profession  would  betray  itself  in  his  smile. 

"  Some  men  who  are  neither  artists  nor  poets,"  she  re 
plied,  "  have  the  perceptions  of  genius,  and  it  is  not  her 
beauty  only  that  a  woman  wants  appreciated.  A  favora 
bly  true  reading  of  her  qualities  of  mind  and  character  is 
exquisite  pleasure  to  her  " — 


PAUL    FANE.  103 

"  Even  though  it  be  a  surprise,"  interrupted  Paul. 

"  Yes,  for  there  is  a  secret  consciousness  at  the  bar  of 
which  all  flattery  is  tried,"  thoughtfully  added  the  prin 
cess.  "It  is  the  pleasure  of  the  intercourse  I  speak  of, 
with  men  of  genius,  that,  though  they  compliment  what 
may  never  have  been  complimented  before,  it  is  because  it 
has  been  always  overlooked.  Yet  we  have  at  the  same  time 
been  aware  of  its  existence.  Many  a  thing  is  true  of  us  which 
we  should  ourselves  lack  the  skill  to  define — is  it  not  ?" 

"  I  am  mentally  reversing  the  picture,"  said  Paul,  with 
his  eyes  cast  to  the  ground  and  his  mind  far  away  for 
the  moment,  "  thinking  how  exquisite,  in  turn,  to  the  man 
of  genius,  would  be  such  appreciation  of  himself  by  the 
woman  he  admired — appreciation"  (he  continued,  remem 
bering  to  whom  he  was  speaking,  and  meeting  her  dark 
eyes  as  he  looked  up)  "  such  as  could  be  given  to  a  supe 
rior  mind  by  perceptions  and  powers  of  analysis  like  your 
own." 

"  The  which  perceptions  and  powers,"  she  said,  with  one 
of  the  most  delicious  of  her  indolent  smiles,  I  have  been 
bestowing  very  industriously  upon  yow,  Mr.  Fane !  You 
may  not  take  it  as  a  compliment,  but  1  assure  you  that 
your  criticisms  upon  people  and  things,  the  first  time  I 
saw  you  at  court,  satisfied  me  that  you  were  bo-rn  for  an 
artist." 

"  Happily  not  introduced  to  you  as  one,  however,"  said 


104  PAUL     FANE. 

Paul,  feeling  the  discovery  thus  far  to  be  very  agreeable, 
but  still  acting  upon  his  habit  of  keeping  his  profession  to 
himself. 

'•  And  why  ?"  asked  his  friend  with  a  more  closely  scru 
tinizing  look. 

41  According  to  court  usage,"  he  replied,  (seeking  the 
cover  of  ceremony  from  a  discussion  that  might  endanger 
his  secret),  "  my  position  behind  my  diplomatic  button  is 
better  than  it  might  be  behind  an  easel ;  and  I  could  not 
presume  to  suppose  that  your  highness  would  make  an 
exception  in  my  favor." 

"  Very  diplomatically  stated !"  said  the  princess,  quietly, 
and  I  see  that  you  were  born  also  for  a portefeuille  ;  but 
your  proposition  is  only  partly  true,  notwithstanding. 
The  formalities  of  my  first  acquaintance  might  be  easier 
to  the  attache — but  all  beyond  that  would  be  easier  to  the 
artist !" 

Paul's  sensitiveness  as  to  his  secret  began  to  grow  ner 
vous.  He  feared  from  the  leaning  of  the  last  remark,  that 
the  princess  knew  more  than  she  had  admitted  ;  but,  think 
ing  he  would  make  one  more  effort  to  throw  the  artist  into 
the  background,  he  rushed  into  a  digression  that  proved 
suggestive:  "I  should  have  supposed,"  he  said,  "that  your 
preference  would  have  been  quite  the  other  way,  and  sim 
ply  for  a  woman's  strongest  of  reasons — pride  of  monopoly. 
A  diplomatist  would  give  you  all  the  powers  of  his  mind — • 


P  A  u  L     FANE.  106 

or  all  you  care  for — those  which  he  devotes  to  his  profes 
sion  being  mere  business  faculties  that  have  no  sentiment 
in  them;  while  the  artist,  of  course,  shares  with  you  his 
ideal.  The  more  genius  he  has  to  make  you  love  him, 
the  more  imagination,  dream-study,  tenderness  and  even 
passionate  longing,  he  will  give  to  the  Pysche  of  his  Art." 

"Better  the  half  of  a  gold  ring  than  the  whole  of  a 
brass  one,"  impatiently  interrupted  his  listener,  "  even  if 
your  theory  were  altogether  true.  But,  in  the  amount  as 
well  as  the  quality  of  the  devotion,  which  is  the  richer, 
think  you — a  Laura  in  her  Petrarch,  or  a  countess  in  her 
Metternich  ?  No,  no,  mon  ami !  The  Pysche  that  you 
speak  of* is  but  the  heigh tener  of  the  capacity  and  desire 
— the  rehearsal  which  gives  perfection  to  the  play !  It 
seems  to  me  that  if  there  is  any  privilege  worth  being 
born  to,  it  is  to  be  better  loved  than  others,  and  if  there 
were  but  one  genius-lover  in  the  world,  it  should  be  a 
queen  that  should  have  him  !" 

"The  'Koh-i-noor  diamond' — too  precious  for  anything 
but  the  crown-jewel — found  to  be  but  a  poor  poet's  love !" 
ejaculated  Paul. 

"  Heavens  1"  continued  the  impassioned  speaker  (rising 
and  pacing  backward  and  forward,  with  her  dark  eyes 
glowing,  and  the  usually  tranquilly-lined  arches  of  her  lips 
curving  with  superb  tensity  of  expression),  "  the  difference 
there  is,  between  being  even  looked  at  by  inspired  or  brut* 


106  PAUL     FANE. 

eyes !  The  demand  of  the  inmost  soul  that  is  answered  by 
appreciation  1  There  is  something  without  language,  Mr. 
Fane,  which  tells  how  we  seem  to  others ;  and  it  degrades 
us  to  be  admired  by  some  minds — they  so  vulgarize  and 
materialize  all  they  look  upon !  Take  the  picture  of  a  wo 
man,  if  you  could  get  it,  out  of  the  mind  of  a  common 
place  admirer — just  as  she  seems  to  him  when  he  is  pour 
ing  his  dull  flattery  upon  her — and  contrast  it  with  the 
heroine  of  the  novelist,  or  the  ideal  of  the  poet,  or  the 
Pysche  of  the  sculptor!  And  to  be  thus  inexpressibly 
more  beautiful  is  the  difference  when  genius  is  the 
lover  1" 

Paul,  by  this  time,  was  studying  with  very  genuine  won 
der  and  admiration  the  effect  given  to  high-born  grace  and 
distinction  by  natural  abandon  and  passionateness.  She 
had  stopped  for  a  moment  and  stood,  silently  before  him, 
lost  in  thought — the  warmth  of  her  tone  and  action  be 
traying  that  the  subject  had  turned  a  chance  key  to  the 
chamber  of  her  heart  hidden  from  the  world,  and  her 
flashing  eyes  and  the  expansion  of  her  thin  nostrils  most 
forgetfully  expressive  and  beautiful. 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  Paul,  with  the  enthusiasm  of  the 
most  natural  homage  in  his  voice,  "pardon  me  if,  in  turn, 
I  recognize  genius  out  of  place — an  improvisatrice  who  has 
been  cradled  for  a  princess !" 

She  offered   him   her  hand  with  a  sudden  change  to 


PAUL     FANE.  107 

gaiety  of  manner,  and  allowed  him  to  raise  it  respectfully 
to  his  lips. 

"  We  meet  on  new  ground  then,  hereafter,"  she  play 
fully  said,  "  and,  as  an  improvisatrice,  of  course,  I  may 
choose  my  character.  You  shall  be  what  Petrarch  would 
have  been  as  an  artist,  and  I  will  play  Laura  with  such 
variations  as  I  may  choose  to  improvise." 

"Madame,"  commenced  Paul,  with  an  embarrassed 
inclination  of  the  head — but,  at  this  moment,  two  of  the 
other  guests  approached,  returning  from  their  ramble. 

"  Here  come  those,"  said  the  princess,  "  who  are  not  to 
know  us  as  'artist'  and  i improvisatrice !}  That  is  our  own 
world,  remember,  my  dear  Fane !" 

And  preceding  the  other  couple  to  the  drawing-room — 
(Paul  the  sudden  sharer  in  a  confidence  which  he  had  not 
the  time,  even  if  he  had  had  the  skill  to  control  or  modify) — 
the  curtains  were  dropped,  and  amid  the  in-door  twilight 
now  made  more  agreeable  by  the  strengthening  sun,  the 
conversation  became  general  between  guests  and  hostess. 
****** 

It  was  an  hour  or  two  after  this  that  Paul  was  whirling 
back  to  Florence,  alone  in  the  princess's  britzka,  but  with 
a  brain  very  thickly  peopled  with  contending  thoughts. 
That  he  was  under  a  spell  of  fascination,  new  and  bewil 
dering,  he  could  not  but  confess  to  the  two  spirits  that  his 
consciousness  compelled  him  to  know  were  now  looking 


108  PAUL     FANE. 

down  upon  him — his  mother  and  Mary  Evenden — but  the 
chain  that  bound  him  was  not  thus  altogether  broken  ! 
The  secret  weakness  of  his  ambition — the  unconfessed  and 
secondary,  but  still  powerful,  motive  of  his  visit  abroad, 
had  been  doubly  touched  and  tempted,  within  the  past 
night.  How  resist  some  trial,  at  least,  of  the  intoxicating 
tests,  now  so  apparently  within  reach — tests  of  what  sym 
pathy  was  possible  between  his  own  and  the  world's  very 
finest  and  proudest  clay  ?  Sybil  Paleford — should  he  risk 
the  dangers  of  a  friendship  with  such  peerless  beauty  ? 

The  Princess  C ,  and  her  strange,  bold  defiance  of 

the  world — could  he  fly  from  her  already  bewildering 
spells  to  be  alone  with  his  home  memories  and  his  pencil  ? 
The  wheels  rattled  over  the  flag-stone  pavements  of  the 
Piazza  Trinita,  while  he  turned  over  these  busily  conflict 
ing  thoughts,  and,  landed  at  the  door  of  his  lodgings  by 
the  liveried  servants  of  the  princess,  he  was  glad  to  darken 
his  room  for  early  siesta,  and  seek  the  troubled  mind's 
blessed  refuge  of  sleep. 


CHAPTER   XL 

IT  was  the  middle  of  an  Italian  forenoon,  with  a  light  in 
the  still  air  so  broad,  so  generous  and  mellow,  that  the 
whole  artist  was  content.  Paul  thanked  God  for  June,  as 
he  stood  before  his  easel.  Not  a  pore  in  his  frame  that 
was  reluctant  to  let  his  soul  out  upon  his  work — his  eyes 
feeling  largely  willing,  his  hand  breadthy  and  dexterous, 
his  consciousness  throughout  proportionate  and  full — even 
Blivins,  in  the  other  corner  of  the  vast  room,  conscious  of 
the  same  delicious  influence.  "  Paul ! "  said  he,  "  my 
dear  boy,  did  you  ever  feel  such  a  unanimous  morning  ? " 

But  Paul  would  have  had  too  busy  a  heart,  if  his  genius 
had  not  put  it  in  harness.  The  subject  on  his  easel  gave 
it  work.  In  a  crayon  sketch  of  three  female  heads  grouped 
like  the  Graces,  he  was  trying  to  bring  in  the  light 
shadows  that  haunted  him ;  for,  in  the  dim  background  of 
his  imagination,  with  changing  prominence  and  brightness 
— fading  into  indistinctness  at  one  hour,  and  all  powerful 
the  next — dwelt  three  visions  of  beauty.  To  each,  in  turn, 


110  PAUL     FANE. 

as  its  bewildering  influence  swept  over  his  sleeping  or 
waking  dreams,  he  felt  strangely  and  irresistibly  subject. 
But  so  different  looked  they,  near  or  distant,  and,  in  the 
changing  light  of  mere  memory  so  impossible  to  bring 
into  comparison,  that  he  felt  compelled  to  call  his  genius 
to  his  aid.  If  his  pencil  would  but  compel  to  the  light 
those  three  viewless  enchantresses,  and  so  place  them  in 
contrast  that  one  loveliness  might  be  controlled  and  mea 
sured  by  the  other — if  he  could  sketch  them,  each  at  its 
best,  as  it  appeared  to  him,  and,  in  one  unchanging  picture, 
by  which  his  outward  eye  could  call  to  reason  the  capri 
cious  and  evasive  fancy,  take  refuge  from  the  strangely 
alternating  sapremacy  of  one  or  another — he  felt  that  he 
should  be  less  hopelessly  adrift. 

As  he  elaborated  more  exquisitely  an  expressive  line 
in  the  features  of  one  of  these  beautiful  heads,  the  inter 
course  that  had  passed  between  him  and  the  Palefords, 
since  the  duke's  ball,  came  freshly  to  his  mind.  We  will 
leave  him  to  re-touch,  also,  his  crayon  memories  of  Mary 
Evenden  and  the  princess,  while  we  outline  for  the  reader 
one  portion  of  the  shadowy  background  to  which  his 
thoughts  now  wandered. 


From  his  siesta,  after  the  breakfast  with  the  Princess 
C ,  Paul  had  waked,  with  his  English  friends  upper- 


PAUL     FANE.  Ill 

most  in  his  mind.  To  his  cooler  eyes,  his  position,  with 
reference  to  them,  seemed  more  embarrassing.  In  their 
secret  thoughts  he  was  undoubtedly  accused  of  an  inatten 
tion  that  had  the  character  of  a  slight ;  yet  it  was  one 
that  it  would  be  extremely  difficult  either  to  explain  or 
apologize  for.  From  a  merely  indifferent  acquaintance,  it 
would  scarce  have  amounted  to  an  inattention,  indeed  ;  and, 
to  mention  it  at  all  was  to  assume  that  Miss  Paleford  not 
only  had  an  interest  in  his  most  trifling  movements,  but 
could  find  time,  to  be  sensitive  about  them  even  when 
dancing  with  the  sovereign. 

Yet,  his  friendship  with  Colonel  Paleford !  Could  he 
suffer  any  shadow  to  rest  on  that  ?  By  nothing  that  had 
happened  to  Paul,  since  his  residence  abroad,  had  his 
pride  been  so  substantially  gratified  as  by  this  courteous 
and  lofty-minded  soldier's  preference  for  his  society.  It 
had  given  him  an  invaluable  self-confidence  as  to  his  own 
quality  of  nature.  If  only  from  grateful  attachment  to  tho 
father,  should  he  not  run  every  risk  to  show  that  any  con 
scious  inattention  to  the  daughter  was  impossible? 

And  another  thought  came  up  with  this — a  question 
that  had  occurred  to  his  own  mind  more  than  once — was 
there  not  a  degree  of  acquaintance,  at  which  the  main 
tenance  of  his  own  false  position,  as  an  apparent  diplo 
matist,  became  an  unfairness  ?  Was  it  not  quite  time  that 
he  threw  aside  his  borrowed  consequence  as  an  attache 


112  PAUL     FANE. 

(the  mere  title,  by  foreign  usage,  implying  just  what  he 
had  no  claim  to,  fortune,  high  connections  and  certainty 
of  preferment)  ;  and  would  not  the  two  explanations  seem 
natural  together?  He  seized  his  pen,  at  this  thought, 
and,  instead  of  his  usual  sunset  stroll  toward  the  Boboli 
gardens,  indited  the  following  leter  : — 

MY  DEAR  COLONEL, 

Not  quite  sure  that  I  have  anything  to  write  to  you  about 
— or  rather,  seeing  very  distinctly  that  what  may  seem  important 
for  me  to  write  may  not  be  important  enough  for  you  to  take  the 
trouble  to  read — I  still  venture  to  intrude  upon  you,  as  you  see. 
It  will  not  be  the  first  time  that  your  good  nature  has  been  called 
upon  in  my  behalf,  and,  trusting  to  your  having  acquired  the  habit, 
I  must  pray  you  to  pardon  me  once  more  ! 

An  honor  was  done  me  by  Miss  Paleford,  last  night,  to  which 
I  have  properly  no  claim ;  and  though  the  same  flattering  chance 
might  never  again  occur,  and  the  explanation,  therefore,  may  be 
needless,  I  still  feel  uneasy  without  offering  it  to  you.  On  the 
Grand  Duke's  taking  your  daughter  from  my  arm,  for  the  quadrille, 
she  kindly  proposed  to  me  to  find  a  partner  and  dance  opposite. 
This,  with  a  diplomatic  rank,  it  would  have  been  very  proper  for 
me  to  do  ;  and,  of  course,  the  happiness  would  have  very  far 
exceeded  the  honor — but,  by  the  distinction  as  to  personages, 
with  which  the  set  was  immediately  made  up,  it  was  evident  that 
an  obscure  civilian  would  have  been  out  of  place  in  the  royal 
quadrille,  and  that  in  not  availing  myself  of  the  opportunity,  I  was 
but  acting  rightly  upon  what  I  wish  to  explain  to  you — viz.  that 


P  A  U  L       F  A   N    E.  11 8 

my  title  as  attache  is  nominal  only.  Miss  Paleford,  of  course, 
gives  me  the  full  benefit  of  the  word  in  its  common  acceptation ; 
but,  instead  of  being  the  young  man  of  fortune  and  family  for 
whom  this  door  to  a  courtly  career  is  usually  thrown  open,  I  am 
simply  Paul  "Fane,  an  obscure  youth,  with  no  diplomatic  or  other 
promotion  in  prospect,  and  dependent  wholly  on  my  own  efforts 
for  future  support — the  American  minister  at  Paris  having  done 
me  the  kindness  to  put  this  title  on  my  passport  merely  as  a 
facility  of  form,  by  which  I  might  better  see  society.  While  I  am 
at  liberty,  therefore,  to  be  presented  at  courts,  and,  in  my  uniform 
of  mere  ceremony,  play  the  looker-on,  you  will  readily  understand 
how  the  acceptance  of  any  real  diplomatic  privilege  would  scarcely 
be  honest. 

Of  course  I  had  no  time  to  explain  to  Miss  Paleford  why  I  did 
not  avail  myself  of  her  generous  permission  ;  but  another  question 
presented  itself  while  I  was  looking  on  (at  what  you  will  allow  me 
to  say,  as  did  all  who  had  the  happiness  to  see  it,  was  a  spectacle 
of  unprecedented  interest) — whether  I  could  presume  so  far  as  to 
offer  to  receive  again,  from  the  hand  of  the  sovereign,  one  who 
was  being  crowned,  at  the  instant,  with  the  glowing  homage  of  his 
court.  I  was  balancing  the  proprieties  of  my  position  as  to  this 
latter  point,  when  the  dance  came  to  a  close ;  and,  at  the  same 

instant,  my  attention  was  called  off  by  the  Princess  C ,  and  the 

opportunity,  even  if  I  could  properly  have  availed  myself  of  it,  was 
lost.  And  that  lady  being  alone  at  the  moment  and  claiming  my 
attendance,  I  was  prevented  from  joining  you  before  you  left,  and 
thus  putting  myself  in  the  way  of  even  a  subsequent  explanation. 

It  is  very  possible,  as  I  said  before,  that  we  may  be  looking  at 
these  matters  from  wholly  different  stand-points  of  view.  Your 
daughter  may  think  it  strange  that  I  could  suppose  her  to  havo 


114  PAUL       FANE. 

any  memory  for  such  a  trifle  as  I  have  explained,  and  you  may  feel 
that  our  acquaintance  scarce  warrants  the  obtrusion  of  my  private 
history  upon  your  confidence.  But  even  this  is  not  all !  I  must 
be  still  one  degree  more  venturesome.  You  would  scarce  be  pre 
pared  to  comprehend  my  illusion,  indeed — if  such  it  be — unless  I 
confess  to  you  the  interest  in  yourselves  that  forms  its  groundwork. 
I  shall  but  clumsily  explain  it,  I  fear,  but  I  will  try. 

There  is  a  kind  of  knowledge  the  study  of  which  forms  an  errand 
for  me  abroad,  and  to  which  you  could  scarce  be  aware  of  your 
exceeding  value.  While  another  traveller  makes  it  his  specialty 
to  be  curious  in  pictures  or  statuary,  rare  gems,  mosaics,  or  other 
wonders  of  human  Art,  I  make  mine  of  the  masterpieces  of  the 
Great  Artist  above  all.  To  find  the  rarest  workmanship  of  God  in 
human  beings,  is  my  enthusiasm  of  search.  With  any  degree  of 
self-appreciation,  and  love  for  what  is  around  you,  your  mind,  my 
dear  colonel,  jumps  at  once  to  my  conclusion.  The  supremacy  of 
beauty  awarded  to  your  daughter,  last  night  (in  the  Palace  which 
is  the  inner  sanctuary  of  Taste  and  Art),  expresses  but  the  rank 
which  I  had  found  her  to  occupy  as  a  type  of  God's  perfecting. 

In  yourself,  and  in  the  family  around  you,  I  must  be  excused  for 
saying  I  have  found  what  takes  precedence  of  all  I  have  yet  seen 
abroad,  of  superiority  by  nature  and  culture.  Even  as  a  study, 
only,  I  might  naturally  desire  to  see  the  most  of  a  gentleman  arid 
his  household  such  as  I  had  not  before  found ;  but  the  possibility 
of  a  friendship  with  such  as  these — a  memory  to  store  away  and 
cherish  in  the  far  off  country  that  is  my  home  ! — there  was  a  charm 
in  that  hope,  my  dear  friend,  for  the  irresistibleness  of  which  from 
any  impartial  mind,  I  could  safely  lay  claim  to  indulgence. 

I  must  beg  that  you  will  not  feel  compelled  to  answer  this  letter. 
If  you  laugh  at  it  when  you  next  give  me  a  shake  of  the  hand,  and 


PAUL     FANE.  115 

so  forget  it,  I  shall  be  abundantly  content — its  object  being  quite 
served  if  I  may  have  relieved  my  own  mind  of  its  uneasiness  with 
out  troubling  yours. 

With  thanks  (thanks  of  which  you  will  now  better  understand 
the  full  meaning)  for  your  kind  hospitalities  and  friendly  atten 
tions,  and,  with  my  most  respectful  and  grateful  compliments  to 
Mrs.  Palesford  and  your  daughter,  I  remain,  my  dear  colonel, 

Yours  faithfully,  PAUL  FANE. 


Chancing  to  know  that  Colonel  Paleford  was  to  be  at 
the  English  embassy  that  evening,  Paul  sent  round  his 
letter,  with  the  ink  scarce  dry ;  but  was  a  little  mystified 
by  the  answer,  brought  him  by  his  own  messenger.  It 
was  simply  a  card  on  which  was  scratched  with  a  pencil : 
"  Drive  out  to-morrow  evening,  to  tea." 

In  the  friendly  informality  of  this  there  was,  at  least, 
negative  evidence  that  his  letter  had  given  no  offence  to 
his  friend;  but  Miss  Paleford  was  still  to  see  it,  and 
whether  it  was  to  improve  or  damage  his  position  in  that 
delightful  family  circle,  was  the  main  question  in  his 
thoughts  for  the  following  day.  One  point  he  felt  secretly 
more  easy  upon — the  liberty  he  should  now  feel  to  address 
conversation  to  the  daughter,  and  otherwise  pay  her  such 
attentions  as  were  natural.  It  was  always  at  least  possi 
ble,  before,  that  he  might  be  numbere  damong  the  attaches, 
who  are  proverbially  eligible  as  suitors ;  and  this,  even  as 


116  PAUL     FANE. 

a  possibility  being  set  aside  by  his  avowal  of  poverty  and 
obscurity,  he  could  be  freer  to  exchange  thoughts  with 
her,  or  even  to  express  his  admiration.  Whatever  the 
footing  upon  which  he  should  find  himself,  after  this  trying 
visit,  the  field  to  cultivate  would  be  one  of  friendship  only, 
and  free  of  all  chance  of  misunderstanding. 


Paul  crossed  the  Arno  as  the  afternoon  light  grew  more 
golden,  and  took  the  southerly  road  winding  into  the  hills 
— the  difficulty  of  getting  any  conversation  out  of  the 
thoughtful  signore,  who  was  usually  so  frank  and  cour 
teous,  acting  very  depressingly  on  the  spirits  of  the  favorite 
vetturino.  But  the  passenger's  perplexity  of  mind  would 
have  been  vainly  confided  even  to  so  affectionate  a  driver 
as  Giuseppe.  It  was  on  what  artists  call  "  a  vanishing 
line" — so  imperceptible  its  change  from  light  to  shade — 
that  Paul  balanced  the  crisis  of  the  coming  hour.  Invited 

O 

familiarly  as  a  friend,  and  undoubtedly  to  be  treated  as  a 
friend,  his  reception  by  the  Palefords  was,  still,  to  test  most 
critically,  he  thought,  the  question  on  which  he  was  sensi 
tive.  Would  there  be  the  faintest  shade  of  difference  in 
the  manner,  towards  him,  of  these,  the  most  refined  and 
lofty-natured  people  he  had  ever  known,  no  v  that  he  came 
to  them  stripped  of  every  worldly  advantage,  and  with  no 
claim  beyond  his  mere  stamp  by  nature  and  education  ? 


PAUL     FANE.  117 

The  sun  dipped  at  the  horizon  as  Paul  walked  up  the? 
trellised  lane  to  the  old  stone  casa,  and,  as  the  sound  of 
his  approaching  footsteps  was  heard,  he  was  called  to, 
from  around  the  angle  of  the  house.  In  the  shade  of  the 
eastern  front  stood  the  tea-table  as  usual ;  and  here,  in 
their  easy-chairs,  with  books  and  papers,  work  and  play 
things,  lounged  the  family,  expecting  him — the  general 
acclamation  with  which  he  was  received,  strange  to  say, 
suddenly  putting  to  flight  all  remembrance  of  what  he 
meant  particularly  to  observe  !  With  the  "  How  are  you, 
my  dear  Fane  ?  "  of  the  colonel,  the  cordial  pressure  of  the 
hand  by  Mrs.  Paleford,  and  the  joyous  welcome  by  the 
children,  he  was  so  suddenly  arid  completely  made  at 
home  as  to  lose  sight  of  his  embarrassments  altogether ! 

But  Miss  Paleford  was  not  present.  She  had  returned 
from  the  ball,  not  feeling  very  well,  and  "  had  been  play 
ing  the  invalid,"  said  the  mother,  "  though  it  was  the  first 
time  she  had  ever  known  Sybil  to  need  so  powerful  a  seda 
tive — two  whole  days  of  solitude  to  recover  from  an  even 
ing's  surfeit  of  society  ! " 

With  the  rattle  of  the  tea-tray,  however,  the  invalid 
made  her  appearance  at  the  little  vine-covered  door- window 
of  the  balcony  above,  and  gave  an  unceremonious  "  good 
evening  "  to  the  visitor,  as  she  descended  the  open  stair 
way  to  the  terrace. 

It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  it  almost  took  away  Paul's 


118  PAUL     FANE. 

breath  to  look  upon  that  approaching  vision.  He  had 
never  seen  Sybil  Paleford  before,  except  with  the  severest 
simplicity  of  dress — her  hair  made  the  least  of,  and  her 
pride  of  coldness  and  unostenfratiousness  having  guarded  so 
closely  against  ornament  or  effect,  in  her  exterior,  as  to 
give  it  the  air  of  a  rebuke  to  admiration.  Nothing  but 
the  unconcealable  proportion  of  her  commanding  stature, 
and  the  artistic  fitness  with  which  it  was  draped,  prevented 
that  plainness  from  being  more  than  negatively  simple — 
indeed,  positively  unbecoming. 

Now,  however,  the  fair  invalid  was  in  that  most  fascinat 
ing  of  all  possible  drapery  for  woman,  the  demi-toilette  that, 
however  carefully  arranged,  is  to  express  her  careless  hour. 
From  under  a  most  exquisitely  becoming  cap  broke  loose 
a  wealth  of  the  golden  edged  locks  usually  so  closely  put 
away  ;  and,  with  this  additional  shade  heaped  so  massively 
over  temples  and  cheek,  the  eyes,  to  Paul's  artistic  percep 
tion,  were  made  unfathomably  deeper.  The  neglige  robe, 
confined  only  at  the  waist,  seemed  almost  profance  in  its 
disclosure  of  the  white  underdress  from  the  waist  down 
wards,  and  the  pliant  folds  of  a  light  blue  semi-transparent 
material  followed  the  movements  of  her  beauty  with  a 
grace,  which,  to  the  artist,  seemed  like  a  sentiment — a 
caressingness,  half  timid,  half  venturesome,  such  as,  if  it 
could  not  be  copied  in  a  picture,  might,  at  least,  be  told  in 
a  poem. 


PAUL     FANE.  119 

With  the  absolutely  new  disclosure  made  by  this  cos 
tume  of  intimacy,  Paul  was  completely  bewildered  !  Hers 
was  beauty  which  embellishment  first  made  to  seem  mor 
tal — never  before  appearing  within  reach  but  to  be  revered 
and  worshipped.  The  expression  of  that  careless  drapery 
was  an  admission,  now  first  made,  that  hers  was  loveliness 
to  be  approached — the  loosened  tresses  a  first  betrays! 
that  they  belonged  to  what  mortal  might  yet  caress.  In 
the  retreating  swell  of  the  faultless  lines  above  the  wrist, 
half  hidden  by  the  sleeve,  there  was  more  that  was  human, 
than  in  the  arm  bared  to  the  shoulder  with  the  full  dress 
of  evening.  Even  the  slipper,  though  it  disclosed  less  of 
the  arching  instep,  was  an  encouragement  to  the  admiring 
eye  which  the  shoe  of  the  ball-room  never  gave. 

But  the  surprise  of  the  evening  was  not  all  in  this  first 
impression.  With  Miss  Paleford,  heretofore,  Paul  had 
always  felt  that  he  conversed,  through  the  mind  and  mood 
of  the  father,  on  whose  arm  she  so  habitually  leaned. 
Not  only  was  there  no  direct  communication  of  thought, 
but  her  very  recognition  of  others  seemed  to  have  a  reserve 
of  intermediation — as  if  it  were  only  through  the  protect 
ing  third  person's  presence  that  her  guarded  consciousness 
could  be  addressed.  There  was  a  difference,  now,  however, 
which  he  could  scarce  explain.  As  she  took  her  place 
between  Paul  and  her  mother,  giving  him  her  hand  with 
the  usual  first  commonplaces  of  greeting,  there  was  a  slight 


120  PAULFANE. 

heightening  of  color — but,  this  over,  her  features  and 
manner  gave  an  impression  like  the  light  in  a  just  un 
shuttered  room.  Never  before  to  him  had  that  smile 
shone  clear  through,  with  no  barrier  between  heart  and 
lips.  The  look  out  of  her  largely  open  eye,  was,  for  the 
first  time  trustingly  complete.  She  was  as  childlike  and 
playful  as  she  was  largely  and  nobly  beautiful ;  and  while, 
in  the  pride-forgetting  joyousness  of  her  every  accent,  Paul 
felt  an  electric  exhilaration,  he  still  struggled  in  strange 
bewilderment  at  the  change  ! 

With  the  mother's  prudent  dismissal  of  the  invalid  to 
her  room,  as  the  evening  deepened,  the  visitor  took  an 
early  departure — Colonel  Paleford  accompanying  him  to 
the  gateway,  and  by  a  single  allusion  to  his  letter  confirm 
ing  what  the  manners  and  conversation  of  the  family  circle 
had  already  expressed.  It  was  evident,  that,  while  its 
points  were  not  to  be  answered  or  discussed  seriously, 
the  spirit  in  which  the  letter  was  written  had  brought  him 
nearer  to  them.  They  liked  him  better  than  before.  And 
thus  was  settled,  to  his  boundless  increase  of  contentment, 
the  foreshadowed  problem  of  the  evening. 

But  completely  as  this  had  engrossed  his  mind,  to  the 
exclusion  of  the  beauty  of  the  setting  sun,  on  his  way  out, 
it  was  not  the  subject  of  thought,  which,  on  his  way  home, 
made  him  equally  unmindful  of  tlio  gloriously  risen  moon. 
The  wondrous  loveliness  of  Sybil  Paleford  !  The  incredible 


P  A  U  L       F  A  N  E.  121 

novelty  of  her  impression  upon  him,  with  the  removal  of 
her  proud  reserve  !  And,  how  strangely  had  his  anticipations 
been  exceeded,  as  to  the  freedom  of  intercourse  between 
him  and  her,  which  he  had  ventured  to  anticipate  would 
spring  naturally  from  his  completeness  of  explanation  !  It 
could  only  be  a  friendship,  of  course — but  what  a  new,  bright 
poem  of  real  life,  would  be  a  friendship  with  such  a  father 
and  daughter !  How  better  than  a  love  it  might  be  !  How 
stranger,  and  yet  more  rational,  than  a  romance !  Ah,  the 
new  door  opened  into  to-morrow  and  to-morrow !  The 
intoxicating  promise  of  intercourse  henceforth  daily  and  un 
reserved  between  himself  and  two  such  sovereignties  in  one 
— the  finest  workmanship  of  God  he  had  yet  seen  in  man, 
and  the  court-acknowledged  supremacy  of  beauty  in  wo 
man  !  Might  not  this  be,  to  him,  life's  chapter  of  gold, 
sometime  unrecognized  when  written,  but  wonderingly 
turned  back  to,  from  pages  never  again  so  bright  ? 

It  was  a  rapid  review  of  these  circumstances  and 
thoughts  which  coursed  through  the  mind  of  Paul,  as  he 
followed  with  his  pencil  a  gleam  of  deeper  insight  into  the 
features  of  Sybil  Paleford.  As  his  study  of  that  face,  and 
the  other  two,  in  the  sketch  upon  his  easel,  had  much  to 
do  with  the  moulding  of  his  destiny,  we  shall  bring  tho 
reader  to  find  him  again  at  work  upon  them,  farther  on. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

IT  was  an  interesting  day  at  the  Blivins'  studio — (some 
two  weeks  after  the  date  of  the  preceding  chapter) — Miss 
Firkin  being  expected  at  twelve  to  give  Mr.  Blivins  her 
first  sitting  for  a  portrait,  and  Paul  having  yielded  a  point 
to  his  friend  in  consenting  to  be  present. 

This  latter  circumstance  had  been  the  subject  of  some 
argument,  Paul  having  begun  to  attach  a  certain  poetical 
charm  to  the  secrecy  of  his  artistic  life,  and  finding,  be 
sides,  that  the  possession  of  an  unproclaimed  accomplish 
ment,  such  as  the  discipline  of  taste  and  eye  which  belongs 
to  an  artist,  gave  him  a  magnetism,  like  a  sympathy  of 
freemasonry,  over  the  superior  minds  met  with  in  society. 
Bosh's  interest  in  the  matter,  however,  even  as  a  business 
consideration,  abundantly  outweighed  all  this.  With  Miss 
Firkin,  who  had  attached  great  interest  to  the  making  of 
Paul's  acquaintance,  it  would  be  a  vast  accession  to  Mr. 
Blivins's  character  as  an  artist,  if  Mr.  Fane  were  known  to 
be  his  daily  visitor — showing  either  a  sympathy  of  taste, 

122 


PAULFANE.  123 

or  still  better,  an  amateur  desire  to  take  advantage  of  the 
facilities  of  his  friend's  studio  to  pursue  a  study  of  draw 
ing.  The  commissions  for  portraits  which  might  grow  out 
of  this — Miss  Firkin  being,  as  it  were,  the  controlling  axle 
to  a  large  circle  of  titled  subjects  for  his  pencil — Blivins 
declared  to  be  a  prospect  equal  to  the  "  good  will "  of  a 
freighting-line  on  the  Mississippi. 

Business  first  with  Bosh,  of  course ;  but  there  was  an 
other  argument  which  he  did  not  openly  press,  though  it 
followed  very  close  on  the  heels  of  the  other  in  his  secret 
thoughts,  and,  with  a  friend's  tender  interest  in  matters  of 
feeling,  Paul  would  have  felt  even  more  bound  to  make 
the  sacrifice.  Wabash  was  in  love  !  It  was  the  arbitress 
of  his  fate  who  was  to  sit  for  her  portrait  to  him ;  and, 
with  the  light  and  shade  of  hope  and  trepidation  was  that 
picture — the  picture  of  the  possibly  future  Mrs.  Blivins — 
to  be  drawn  and  colored!  And  this  would  have  been 
betrayed,  if  by  nothing  else,  by  the  restlessness  of  anticipa 
tion  with  which  the  enamored  artist  made  his  arrange 
ments.  Long  before  the  appointed  hour,  the  palette  was 
set  with  its  colors ;  the  canvas  stood  ready  upon  the  easel ; 
and  Paul's  still  assiduous  pencil  was  left  at  work  alone 
upon  the  beauty  of  the  patient  Giulietta. 

"  Close  upon  twelve,  my  dear  boy !"  said  Bosh,  coming 
behind  Paul's  easel  with  amiably  concealed  impatience, 
and  looking  upon  his  sketch  as  if  to  see  what  it  was  that 


124  PAUL     FANE. 

BO  unaccountably  engrossed  him ;  "  don't  you  think  you 
could  leave  off,  now  ?  The  Firkins'  coming- — I  expect 
them  every  moment — and  Giulietta  here,  so  very '  aesthetic,' 
as  you  call  it,  in  her  costume !  Imagine  what  a  dreadful 
surprise  it  would  be  for  excellent  Mrs.  Firkins  to  see 
her!" 

Paul  pulled  out  his  watch.  "Half-past  eleven  only, 
and  grand  people  are  never  punctual.  They'll  not  come 
before  half-past  twelve,  my  dear  Bosh,  and  we're  at  least 
safe  in  letting  Giulietta  stay  out  her  time.  Suppose,  just 
to  keep  yourself  from  fretting,  you  give  me  a  pose,  that  I 
very  much  want,  just  now — you  and  Giulietta  !" 

"  But,  Paul  1  my  dear  friend !"  remonstrated  the  anx 
ious  Bosh. 

"  Here  ! — it  will  take  but  a  moment ! — Look  at  my 
sketch.  You  see  these  two  figures — the  younger  Rimini, 
just  stabbed  by  his  jealous  brother,  is  soaring  away  into 
ghost-land,  with  the  spirit  of  the  dead  Francesca  striving 
to  cling  to  him.  It  has  been  a  sinful  love,  you  under 
stand,  for  which  he  has  lost  his  life,  and  the  attempted 
caress,  therefore,  is  received  in  the  other  world  with  reluc 
tance.  Now,  I  can't  catch  the  expression  of  that — a 
woman's  arms  around  an  unwilling  neck.  Try  to  outline 
it  for  me — you  and  she !" 

"  What— stand  like  a  figure  afloat  in  the  air,  my  dear 
friend  ! — how  is  it  possible  ?" 


PAUL     FANE.  12i» 

"Oh,  I'll  arrange  that,"  said  Paul,  proceeding  to  get 
Blivins's  tall  figure  into  pose — "  something  must  be  im 
agined,  in  every  picture.  Stand  as  near  as  you  can,  in  the 
posture  of  the  figure  I  have  drawn — arms  over  your  head 
— one  leg  out  behind — so  !" 

By  showing  his  sketch  to  Giulietta,  Paul  had  easily 
explained,  to  her  accustomed  eye,  what  was  to  be  the  com 
bination  of  attitude  between  her  and  Bosh.  With  a  skill 
ful  twist  of  her  petticoat,  she  imitated  the  winding-sheet 
falling  from  Francesca's  hips,  and  then,  with  her  long  hair 
streaming  down  over  her  naked  back,  she  mechanically 
took  her  position. 

"Excellent!"  said  Paul,  "excellent!" — proceeding  to 
study  the  pose  with  all  the  ardor  of  artistic  perception — 
"  don't  move  an  inch,  my  dear  friend !" 

And  steadfast  stood  Bosh,  accordingly — his  arms  over 
his  head,  the  weight  of  his  body  balanced  on  one  leg,  and 
the  other,  as  far  as  was  possible,  thrust  out  behind,  while 
Giulietta  stood,  half  tip-toe,  straining  her  spread  arms 
toward  his  neck — (the  tableau,  however,  such  as  would 
seem  to  a  common  eye  rather  like  a  respectable  gentleman 
trying  to  escape  from  a  very  slenderly  dressed  young 
woman) — when,  suddenly,  there  was  a  scream! 

"  La'-d'-a-mercy !"  cried  Mrs.  Firkin,  snatching  at  her 
daughter's  dress  to  prevent  her  entering  the  door  of  tho 
room  that  the  officious  footman  had  thrown  open  without 


126  PAUL     FANE. 

knocking ;  "  'Phia  !  'Phia ! — The  horrid  wretches  ! — what 

&  " 

a  place  to  come  to !     Why,  I  never ! — 'Phia,  I  say  !" 

And  the  horror-stricken  mother  had  half  succeeded  in 
dragging  her  daughter  baqk  to  the  landing-place  of  the 
stairs,  before  the  petrified  Blivins  (for  Paul  did  not  feel 
sufficiently  acquainted  to  interfere)  could  utter  a  syllable 
of  remonstrance.  By  the  simple  accident  of  coming  a  little 
before  their  time,  they  had  stumbled  upon  the  very  scene 
about  which  Bosh  was  so  prophetically  apprehensive. 

"  But,  Ma  F'  expostulated  Miss  Firkin  (who  was  herself 
a  little  staggered  at  the  spectacle  of  her  friend  Blivins 
apparently  hard  run  by  a  doubtfully  apparelled  person), 
"  Ma !  he's  going  to  explain !" 

"  I  don't  want  any  explanation  of  it,  'Phia !  I  saw  it  with 
my  own  eyes  !  Come  right  away,  I  say !" 

The  words  "  model "  and  "  artists'  rooms"  had  began,  by 
this  time,  however,  to  convey  a  glimmer  of  the  state  of  the 
case,  and  Giulietta's  very  proper  and  civil  look  as  she 
hastily  drew  her  dress  around  her,  and  passed  out  with  her 
mother,  contributed  to  quiet  the  alarm  of  Mrs.  Firkin. 
Paul  came  forward  also,  and  paid  his  respects  with  a  for 
mal  deference,  in  which  there  was  no  consciousness  of  any 
thing  wrong  or  unusual ;  and  so,  at  last,  the  unexpected 
commotion  was  allayed. 

"  My  friend,  Mr.  Fane,"  said  Blivins,  as  the  ladies  took 
seats  and  looked  around,  "  is  an  amateur  of  the  Arts,  in 


PAUL     FANE.  127 

addition  to  his  other  distinguished  accomplishments,  and — 
(you  see  by  his  easel  in  the  corner,  ladies !) — makes  use  of 
my  studio  like  a  brother  artist." 

"Particularly  a  privilege  to-day,"  said  Paul,  with  a 
complimentary  inclination  of  his  head,  "  as  I  am  to  have 
the  honor,  I  believe,  of  giving  an  opinion  upon  the  costume 
and  attitude  in  which  my  friend  is  to  paint  Miss  Firkin ! 
What  is  your  own  choice  in  the  matter,  if  I  may  ask  ?"  he 
continued,  addressing  the  young  lady  with  the  tone  of  the 
most  simple  desire  for  knowledge  on  the  important  point. 

"Well,  I  don't  know,  I  declare!"  she  replied,  evidently 
laying  herself  out  for  a  discussion  that  was  going  to  be 
very  delightful.  "What  do  you  think  is  my  style,  Mr. 
Fane  ?  I  will  be  painted  as  anything  you  and  Mr.  Blivins 
think  of  most  when  you  see  me  P1 

"  I  hope,"  said  Mrs.  Firkin,  with  a  decision  that  was  in 
tended  to  express  her  horror  of  the  fancy-pictures  which 
stared  down  upon  her  from  every  wall,  "  I  hope,  Mr.  Bli- 
vins,  that  you  will  paint  her  as  her  father's  daughter,  and 
sufficiently  dressed  for  Cincinnati !" 

"La!  Ma!  you're  always  looking  through  your  Ohio 
spectacles  at  everything !"  pouted  Miss  'Phia,  half  turning 
her  back  upon  her ;  "  I  shan't  always  be  Miss  Firkin,  I 
hope,  and  I'm  sure  I  don't  want  to  be  stuck  up  for  ever  in, 
one  dress !  Can't  you  paint  me  in  some  character  Mr. 
Blivins  ? 


128  P  A  U  L       F  A  N  E  . 

"Miss  Firkins  is  right,"  said  Paul,  putting  in  a  timely 
word.  "Fashions  change  hundreds  of  times  while  a 
portrait  hangs  on  the  wall,  and  the  drapery  should  be 
something  which  fashion  does  not  affect.  Suppose  you 
answer  the  lady's  first  question,  my  dear  Blivins : — Of 
what  character  in  history  or  allegory,  does  her  persona' 
appearance  most  remind  you  ?" 

Bosh  was  entirely  reinstated  in  his  dignity  by  the 
respectful  solemnity  of  his  friend's  deferential  appeal.  He 
drew  himself  up,  and  gave  a  wide  sweep  with  the  pencil 
he  held  in  his  hand.  The  artistic  inspiration  was  upon 
him. 

"When  I  see  Miss  Sophia  Firkin,"  he  proudly  an 
tiounced,  looking  at  her  with  the  raised  eyebrows  of  the 
loftiest  admiration,  "I  see  the  Goddess  of  American 
Liberty !" 

"A  female  figure  in  a  helmet  and  tunic,"  said  Paul. 
"  It  would  certainly  look  well  in  Cincinnati." 

But  Miss  Firkin's  idea  of  the  matter  was  not  quite 
reached.  "You  have  not  favored  us  with  your  own 
opinion,  yet,  Mr.  Fane!"  she  remarked,  with  a  slight 
heightening  of  color.  "  Is  there  nothing  you  know  of,  that 
I  could  be  painted  as  and  not  be  covered  up,  somehow,  as 
this  American  Goddess  always  is  ?" 

With  a  glance  at  Miss  Firkin's  slight  change  of  attitude 
— her  chest  a  little  thrown  forward,  and  the  left  cheek 


P  A  U  L      F  A  N  E.  129 

turned  off  so  as  to  give  plenty  of  room  to  the  shoulder 
below — Paul  saw  at  once  that  there  were  natural  advan 
tages  of  figure  to  which  that  picture  was,  in  some  way, 
to  be  made  to  do  justice.  The  Ohio  belle  had  been 
abroad  long  enough  to  see  what  was  most  dwelt  upon  by 
the  Fine  Arts;  and  a  little  vanity  as  to  a  needlessly  con 
cealed  perfection  or  two  of  her  own — (compared,  that  is 
to  say,  with  what  the  artists  expended  so  much  study 
upon) — was  not  to  be  avoided.  Still,  with  Mrs.  Firkin's 
present  alarm  on  the  subject,  it  would  evidently  be  impos 
sible  to  decide  at  once  upon  such  pose  and  drapery  as 
would  be  acceptable  to  both  her  and  her  daughter. 

"  As  to  faces,  Miss  Firkin,"  said  Paul,  in  reply  to  her 
question,  "  I  have  found  that  they  change  in  their  impres 
sion  upon  us,  almost  invariably  with  closer  study — particu 
larly  with  study  under  the  pencil.  My  friend  Blivins,  I 
have  no  doubt,  in  very  little  time,  would  find  something 
better  suited  to  your  expression  than  the  helmet  of  his 
goddess.  Even  with  my  o"\vn  few  minutes'  study  of  your 
features  (if  you  will  pardon  the  artistic  freedom  of  the 
remark)  I  have  noticed  another  expression — something, 
for  instance,  that  would  work  finely  into  a  picture  of 
Cleopatra  applying  the  asp" — 

"  Oh,  delightful,  delightful !"  suddenly  interrupted  Miss 
Firkin.  Exactly  my  idea,  Mr.  Fane ! — thank  you ! — Cleopa- 


130  PAUL     FANE. 

tra  in  a  reclining  position,  holding  the  serpent  to — to — just 
below  her  heart,  isn't  it  ?" — 

"  But  this  is  only  a  suggestion,"  continued  Paul,  "  and 
it  would  be  better,  at  least,  to  give  Mr.  Blivins'  own  higher 
order  of  imagination  its  natural  precedence.  Genius 
requires  time,  Miss  Firkin !" 

Blivins  bowed  affectionately  to  Paul. 

"  Shall  we  defer  the  decision  of  what  the  character  is  to 
be,  then,  till  we  have  first  had  a  sitting  or  two,  and  made 
studies  of  the  features  merely  ?  I  have  the  consent  of  my 
friend,"  Paul  added  with  grave  humility,  "  to  occupy  my 
usual  place  at  the  other  easel,  and  share  his  subject  with 
him — Miss  Firkin  consenting  " — 

"  Certainly !     Certainly  !"  exclaimed  the  fair  subject. 

"  And  as  I  stand  at  a  different  point  of  view,"  he  contin 
ued,  "  it  will  not  be  surprising  if  I  see  the  expression  dif 
ferently.  Perhaps,  of  the  same  subject,  we  may  make  two 
wholly  different  pictures." 

This  last  proposition  was  altogether  too  delightful  to  be 
objected  to-*-Miss  Firkin  enchanted,  Blivins  relieved  of 
"  immediate  first  pressure,"  and  Mrs.  Firkin  considerably 
flattered  with  the  interest  taken  in  the  matter  by  "  that 
very  polite  Mr.  Fane."  With  a  request  for  the  removal  of 
the  un-goddesque  bonnet,  and  a  timid  hint  or  two  as  to 
attitude,  etc.,  the  happy  lover  made  a  beginning  of  his 


P  A  U  L       F  A  N  E.  131 

Goddess  of  Liberty — (evidently  persisting  in  his  preference 
of  that  sacred  Fourth-of-July-approved  costume  for  the 
intended  Mrs.  Blivins) — and  the  united  happinesses  and 
anxieties  went  into  paint  and  progress. 

[It  has  long  been  a  cherished  opinion  of  our  own,  dear 
reader,  that  (as  journeys  are  better  achieved  by  a  change 
of  horses)  stories  are  better  told  by  an  occasional  change 
of  narrators ;  and  we  shall  take  the  liberty  to  hand  over 
the  remaining  history  of  the  painting  of  Miss  Firkin's 
portrait  to  her  own  fresher  powers  of  description — one  of 
her  private  letters  giving  the  particulars  which  will  sub 
stantially  complete  it,  besides  the  other  lights  and  shadows 
which  could  only  be  furnished  from  her  own  different  point 
of  vision.  She  thus  writes  to  the  faithful  school-fellow  and 
ally,  with  whom  she  exchanged  eternal  vows  of  friendship 
and  reciprocity  of  secrets,  Miss  Kumletts,  of  Rumpusville, 
Alabama : — ] 

FLORENCE, . 

DEAR  KITTY  : 

I  dare  say  you  feel  quite  like  a  widow,  not  to  have  heard 
from  your  faithful  'Phia  for  so  long  (now  three  weeks  since  I  wrote 
to  you,  I  believe),  but  the  neglect  is  not  because  I  forget  you.  I 
think  of  you,  on  the  contrary,  oftener  than  ever,  and  because  I 
have  more  to  tell — which,  you  know,  makes  it  so  much  harder  to 
begin.  Why,  I  live  so  much  more  than  I  used  to,  Kitty,  that  I 
feel  like  half  a  dozen  of  what  I  used  to  be !  In  fact,  multiplied  as 
my  existence  is,  at  present,  I  should  not  feel  justified  in  marrying 


132  PAUL     FANE. 

any  one  man.  Don't  you  think  there  is  danger  of  outgrowing  the 
"  allowance  for  one " — becoming,  in  one's  own  self,  a  sort  of 
seraglio,  as  it  were  ?  At  any  rate,  my  mind  must  be  more  clear  as 
to  what  constitutes  a  "single  woman,"  before  I  give  the  whole  of 
myself  to  a  single  husband ! 

But,  to  drop  this  discussion  of  principle  (for  fear  you  will  think 
it  is  one  of  my  old  compositions,  dear!)  and  begin  with  the  news. 
Politics  first,  of  course.  What  do  you  think  is  offered  to  papa,  by 
secret  embassy  from  one  of  the  courts  of  Europe  ?  At  least,  the 
Baroness  Kuhl  declares,  that,  in  consequence  of  the  proper  represent 
ations  to  her  government,  by  Count  Ebenhog  and  herself,  she  is 
authorized  to  propose  to  the  distinguished  Mr.  Firkin  to  become  a 
count — (a  real  live  German  count  and  no  mistake  !) — for  just  money 
enough  to  pay  the  expenses !  The  twenty  thousand  dollars  (about 
the  sum  it  would  cost,  she  thinks!)  would  be  paid  in  advance  to 
herself,  as  it  is  what  she  calls  a  dormant  title  in  her  own  family 
which  is  to  be  bought  out — but  Count  Ebenhog  would  also  require 
a  "  consideration,"  viz. : — (wait  till  Miss  Namely  catches  her  breath, 
if  you  please!) — my  own  trifling  little  heart  and  hand,,"  be  the 
same  more  or  less." 

Now,  what  do  you  think  of  being  courted  in  that  sort  of  way  ? — 
for  that  is  simply  a  diplomatic  proposal  of  marriage !  These  sly 
Germans  thought  I  should  be  willing  enough  to  be  made  a  countess, 
but  they  wanted  first  to  get  what  business  folks  call  a  "  bonus  "  out 
of  papa.  And  in  a  country  where  all  the  love  is  thus  made  through 
pne's  anxious  parent,  of  course  you  suppose  a  young  lady's  feelings 
are  all  of  a  size.  But  I  have  my  little  preferences,  notwithstand 
ing  ;  and  of  these  I  now  proceed  to  give  you  the  confidential  par 
ticulars. 

**#***# 


PAUL     FANE.  133 

[We  will  omit  this  portion  of  Miss  Firkin's  letter,  as  not 
having  any  special  bearing  on  our  story,  and  come  at  once 
to  the  last  page,  and  of  its  mention  of  her  portrait  by  Mr. 
Blivins.] 


But  it  is  curious  how  the  kind  of  love  that  one  means  to  settle 
down  upon,  after  all  (when  our  little  innocent  flirtations  are  over, 
you  know,  Kitty  !),  just  spoils  a  man  for  painting  one's  portrait  !  I 
went  to  sit  to  my  devoted  Blivins,  expecting  that  he  would,  at 
least,  make  me  as  good-looking  as  I  am  —  (especially  as,  by  the 
way,  he  talked  to  me,  I  was  sure  he  thought  me  very  beautiful), 
and  what  does  he  do  but  begin  his  husbanding  of  me  at  once  — 
painting  me  in  a  helmet  and  tunic  as  a  Goddess  of  Liberty,  that  is 
to  say  —  and  a  more  boxed  up  woman  you  never  saw,  out  of  a  coffin. 
There  was  nothing  to  be  seen  of  me  but  the  face  !  Now  you  know, 
Kitty  (for  we  have  compared  notes  on  the  subject),  that  what  little 
beauty  I  have  is  not  exactly  there.  It  has  been  my  greatest  com 
fort,  in  visiting  these  foreign  galleries  and  studios,  to  see  that  the 
painters  of  all  ages  (ugly  u  old  masters  "  as  well  as  handsome  young 
masters)  dwell  particularly  on  just  where  I  am  perfect.  There  is 
not  a  Virgin  Mary,  nor  a  Saint  Cecilia,  nor  even  a  Lucre  tia  (and 
this  last  is  a  pattern  of  modesty,  you  know),  that  is  not  painted,  as 
you  may  say,  with  a  figure.  And  mamma  says  it  is  only  because 
there  are  so  many  exposed  bosoms  (fifty,  at  least,  in  every  gallery) 
that  people  walk  round  and  look  at  them  so  unconcernedly.  So, 
don't  you  see,  that  if  it  were  only  the  fashion  for  us  all  to  show 
our  figures,  it  would  be  proper  enough!  In  the  East,  it  is  im 
proper  for  a  woman  to  show  her  mouth  ;  and  I  dare  say  that,  if 


134  PAUL     FANE. 

there  were  only  one  woman  in  the  world  that  showed  her  elbow, 
it  would  be  considered  very  immoral. 

But  my  portrait — (for  I  have  not  yet  told  you  quite  all)— came 
very  near  being  painted  the  right  way,  notwithstanding.  Mr. 
Fane,  Blivins's  friend,  is  studying  drawing,  in  the  same  room ;  and 
he  offered  to  "make  a  study,"  as  they  call  it,  by  painting  me,  at 
the  same  time,  as  Cleopatra  poisoning  herself.  And  he  made  a 
beginning.  But  you  know,  to  find  her  heart  (where  the  poisonous 
serpent  is  to  be  applied),  Cleopatra  is  obliged  to  get  below  her 
figure,  a  little — (rather  more,  at  any  rate,  than  I  could  sit  for) — 
and,  though  Mr.  Fane  offered  very  politely  to  paint  as  much  of  me 
as  might  be  thought  proper,  and  then  finish  his  study  from  an 
Italian  model  (a  pretty  girl  that  is  made  very  much  like  me), 
mamma  would  not  allow  it.  So,  for  the  present,  I  am  goddess 
with  a  nose  and  chin — the  rest  left  to  the  spectator's  imagination ; 
but  I  am  "  breaking  ground,"  as  we  say  at  the  West,  to  have  my 
bust  taken,  and  so  be  done  even  more  justice  to,  perhaps,  after  all. 
Most  anything  is  proper  in  marble,  you  know.  But  of  this  I  will 
write  you  hereafter. 

Well,  here  I  am  at  the  bottom  of  my  fourth  page  ;  and  half  my 

object,  when  I  sat  down  to  write,  was  to  tell  you  all  about  Mr. 

Fane,  whom  I  have  scarce  mentioned.     But  it  will  do  for  a  letter 

by  itself.     So,  good-night  for  now,  dearest  Kitty,  and  to  bed  will  go 

Yours  for  ever  and  ever, 

THIA  FIRKIN. 

And  here,  dropping  the  curtain  for  the  present,  upon  thd 
Blivins  side-scene  in  Paul's  artistic  life,  we  will  pass  to  his 
more  personal  experiences  in  another  chapter. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

IT  was  mid- forenoon ;  and  (with  a  very  unusual  irregu 
larity — for  he  made  a  religion  of  his  Art,  and  ordinarily 
suffered  no  engagement  of  pleasure  or  ceremony  to  inter 
rupt  his  habitual  industry) — Paul  was  not  at  his  studio. 
He  paced  up  and  down  the  little  parlor  of  his  lodgings, 

awaiting  the  carriage  of  the  Princess  C ,  but  with  very 

conflicting  feelings  for  his  thought-company,  meanwhile. 

His  own  heart  had  called  him  to  account.  In  his 
pocket  was  a  letter  from,  his  mother — unopened.  It  had 
been  brought  him  as  he  waited  to  fulfil  the  engagement  of 
the  morning ;  and,  making  the  excuse  to  himself  that 
probably  there  would  not  be  time  to  read  it  before  he 
should  be  called  away,  he  had  thus  deferred  what  he  never 
had  deferred  before. 

But  that  letter  had  arrived  just  as  he  was  summoned  to 
the  same  bar  of  self-examination  by  another  twinge  of  con 
science.  The  princess  had  several  times  alluded  to  a 
young  sculptor,  Signor  Valerio,  in  whom  she  was  inter- 

185 


136  PAUL     FANE. 

ested,  and  to  whose  retired  and  unvisited  studio — hidden 
within  that  of  the  old  sculptor  Secchi,  under  whom  he  was 
studying — she  wished  some  day  to  introduce  him.  And 
the  note  of  this  morning  was  to  request  Paul  to  stay  at 
home  till  she  should  call  and  take  him  there.  But  what 
meant  the  uneasiness  with  which  he  waited  to  comply  with 
this  invitation  ?  Why  could  he  not  go,  with  such  a  lover 
of  Art  as  the  princess,  to  give  his  admiration,  with  hers,  to 
the  genius  of  a  youthful  sculptor,  without  a  jealous  unwil 
lingness  so  foreign  to  his  usual  generous  appreciation  ? 

As  the  rattle  of  wheels  announced  the  stop  of  a  rapidly 
driven  carriage  at  the  door,  Paul  stood  self-convicted  of 
two  charges  from  which  he  was  very  glad  to  escape — first, 
a  jealousy  which  betrayed  a  deeper  interest  in  that  lady 
than  he  had  been  willing  to  confess,  and,  second,  a  con 
sciousness  that  to  the  nature  of  this  jealous  interest  the 
mere  presence  of  his  mother's  letter  was  a  reproof.  He 
dreaded  that  the  reading  of  it  might  break  the  charm, 
even  of  the  doubtful  pleasure  of  that  morning. 

To  get  rid  of  an  oppressive  solitude,  as  well  as  to  pre 
vent  the  princess  from  waiting,  Paul  made  haste  below ; 
but  the  well-appointed  equipage  was  at  the  door  without 
her.  The  footman's  message  was  to  say  that  her  highness 
had  been  passing  the  morning  at  Signor  Valerie's,  and  the 
carriage  would  bring  Mr.  Fane  to  her  highness  at  the 
Galena  Secchi. 


P  A  U  L       F  A  N  E.  137 

Away  dashed  those  proud  blood  horses,  and  discontent 
edly  alone  upon  the  cushions  of  the  luxurious  britzka  rode 
Paul.  He  was  struggling  to  disbelieve  and  make  light  of 
his  fascination  by  the  princess ;  but  that  did  not  prevent 
his  feeling  something  exceedingly  like  resentment,  that  she 
should  have  anticipated  an  engagement  with  himself  in 
her  eagerness  to  get  earlier  to  his  rival.  His  preparation 
to  seem  unconcerned,  and  the  endeavoring  to  smother  all 
that  should  interfere  with  a  proper  estimate  of  the  sculp 
tor's  work  and  a  liberal  commendation  of  it,  occupied 
quite  all  the  time  which  it  took  the  gay  equipage  to 
thread  the  narrow  streets  to  its  destination. 

Sign  or  Secchi,  "the  sculptor,"  was  a  venerable  medi 
ocrity,  early  in  life  mislabelled  as  a  genius,  and  ever  since 
proudly  wearing  the  label,  and  executing  occasionally  an 
original  work  to  keep  up  his  theoretic  belief  in  it — but 
showing  what  was  his  practical  misgiving  on  the  subject, 
by  relying  for  subsistence  on  the  making  of  copies.  His 
large  establishment  for  this  mechanical  production  of  sta 
tuary  for  the  foreign  markets  was,  of  course,  a  great  deal 
visited  by  strangers  wishing  to  purchase ;  and,  in  this 
atmosphere  of  tangible  celebrity,  the  oft-named  and  much- 
sought  Secchi  felt  blissfully  renowned. 

It  struck  Paul  that  her  highness's  "tiger"  seemed  very 
much  at  home,  as,  on  arriving,  he  led  the  way  into  the 
galeria  of  Signor  Secchi ;  and,  without  asking  for  the 


138  PAUL     FANE. 

polite  old  sculptor,  pursued  his  way  past  the  larger  work 
shops,  and  through  passages  and  side-doors,  to  the  hidden 
haunt  of  his  pupil.  The  mysterious  Signor  Valerio  must 
be  very  often  visited,  Fane  thought,  when  the  confidential 
servant  knew  the  way  so  trippingly  ! 

But,  to  what  a  luxurious  studio  was  Paul  suddenly  intro 
duced  !  The  exquisitely  softened  light  from  above  fell 
upon  walls  hung  with  draperies  of  green,  while  a  large 
couch  of  green  velvet,  and  a  round  table  and  fauteuils, 
covered  with  the  same  costly  stuff,  made  a  half  boudoir 
under  the  window.  There  was  no  one  in  the  room  when 
he  entered  ;  and,  as  the  door  closed  behind  and  left  him  in 
silence,  he  looked  around  with  an  increased  tumult  of  won 
der  and  jealousy.  What  a  luxuriast  must  be  this  favorite 
Valerio ! 

He  began  to  look  closer  at  the  artistic  belongings  of  the 
place.  In  the  centre  stood  a  sculptor's  easel,  on  which 
was  a  clay  figure,  covered  with  the  wet  cloth  of  suspended 
labor.  On  the  side  opposite  the  door,  however,  were  two 
finished  statues,  of  the  size  of  life — one,  a  fugitive  Daphne, 
with  her  face  turned  to  the  wall ;  and  the  other  a  prostrate 
Antinolis,  lying  asleep  at  a  fountain's  lip.  He  was  ap 
proaching  these  for  a  closer  look,  when  the  door  opened 
behind  him. 

"  Signor  Valerio,  at  your  service !"  said  a  familiar  voice ; 
but  as  he  turned,  and,  at  the  first  glance,  saw  only  a  per- 


PAUL     FANE.  139 

son  in  the  costume  of  an  artist,  he  bowed  inquiringly — the 
smile  of  the  princess,  the  next  moment,  however,  beaming 
out  from  under  the  rim  of  the  slouched  hat,  and  an  incred 
ulous  glimpse  of  the  whole  mystification  flashed  upon 
him ! 

"And  your  friend,  the  sculptor?"  he  exclaimed,  as  he 
eagerly  sprang  forward  to  take  the  offered  hand  of  the 
princess. 

"C'est  moiT  she  deliberately  pronounced — commencing 
with  much  gravity  to  make  a  courtesy,  but  suddenly 
remembering  her  present  costume  and  the  now  visible 
machinery  of  that  feminine  performance,  and  with  a 
slide  to  the  right,  performing  a  gentleman's  ceremonious 
bow. 

Paul  felt — he  did  not  dare,  for  the  moment,  to  ask  him 
self  why — boundlessly  relieved.  He  looked  around  him 
with  fresh  eyes,  and  admiration  inexpressibly  more  willing, 
as  she  described  to  him  the  secret  culture  of  her  artistic 
tastes  in  this  chamber  of  enchantment. 

"  I  did  not  confess  this  to  you,  when  you  first  recog 
nized  the  spirit  that  breathes  here,"  said  the  princess ; 
"  I  let  you  misname  me  the  improvisatrice — content  with 
that,  indeed,  as  it  is  the  same  inspired  thought,  whether  it 
is  breathed  through  words  or  marble.  But  I  was  not 
quite  ready,  at  the  time,  to  admit  you  to  this  inner  sanc 
tuary." 


140  PAUL     FANE. 

"  You  doubted  my  capability  of  appreciating  it,"  said 
Paul. 

"  No — for  I  saw,  as  I  told  you,  that  you  were  born  with 
the  soul  of  an  artist ;  but  every  sacred  temple  has  its  ves 
tibule,  and  a  secret  like  this,  you  will  allow,  should  have 
its  vestibule  of  time." 

"  But  there  must  be  few  of  your  friends,  who,  even  by 
waiting,  have  gained  the  privilege  of  entrance  here,"  he 
said,  "for  I  am  surprised  never  to  have  heard  a  hint  ol 
such  a  delicious  mystery." 

"  My  visits  here  have  been  constant,  of  course,"  said 
the  princess;  "yet,  under  the  management  of  good  old 
Secchi,  the  secret  has  been  well  kept.  With  the  inquisi 
tive  underlings  of  his  workshops,  the  inner  studio  passes 
for  his  own  impenetrable  sanctuary ;  and  the  works,  which 
you  see  here,  are  cast  and  rough-hewn  as  his  own — 
'Signor  Valerio'  being  known  but  as  the  one  confidential 
student  admitted  to  his  choicest  instruction  in  the  Art. 
As  to  my  friends  and  acquaintances  now  in  Florence, 
scarce  one  has  ever  entered  here." 

The  princess,  meantime,  was  unwinding  the  wet  cloth 
from  the  figure  on  the  easel  ;  and  (deferring  for  the 
moment  his  closer  look  at  the  statues)  Paul  went  on  with 
his  inquiries  into  the  intellectual  portion  of  the  mystery. 

"  With  so  exquisite  a  piece  of  work  as  this  which  you 
are  unveiling,"  said  he  (for  the  admirable  lines  of  a  most 


PAUL     FANE.  141 

lovely  figure,  nearly  completed,  now  became  visible),  "  how 
are  you  content  with  secresy  ?  Can  there  be  genius  with 
out  fame  ?  Would  a  star  be  a  star,  without  the  atmo 
sphere  by  which  to  shine  ?" 

"  It  is  the  contrary  that  seems  wonderful  to  me,"  said 
the  princess,  as  she  took  the  slender  moulding-pencils  into 
her  hands,  and  balanced  one  after  another  with  the  dex 
trous  manipulation  of  habit — "  how  genius,  particularly 
artistic  genius,  can  consent  to  promiscuous  publicity !  It 
seems  to  me  that  the  higher  the  conception  of  beauty,  the 
more  exclusive  should  be  the  admiration  of  it — the  gaze 
of  a  vulgar  or  unappreciative  eye  being  a  profanation  from 
which  it  shrinks,  as  if  by  simply  a  natural  modesty." 

"  The  higher  beauties  among  birds  and  flowers  have  no 
such  exclusiveness,"  said  Paul,  smiling. 

"  Human  instincts  are  better  authority  than  birds  and 
flowers,"  she  replied.  "  How  instinctively  does  a  beautiful 
woman  veil  herself  from  the  vulgar  eye !  And  genius, 
which  is  very  feminine  in  its  instincts,  just  so  instinctively, 
I  think  (if  it  acted  upon  first  impulse),  would  reserv-e  its 
beauties  for  the  few." 

"  But,  to  return  to  my  simile,"  said  Paul ;  "  the  light  of 
the  star  is  lost,  unless  the  few  and  the  many  are  shone 
upon  together ;  and  the  influences  of  genius  are  as  varied 
as  the  uses  of  starlight — the  boor  and  his  sweetheart 
promising  to  remember  each  other  by  the  same  star  that 


142  PAUL     FANE. 

inspires  the  poet  and  instructs  the  astronomer.  There  are 
vile  eyes,  too,  that  look  on  the  stars — as  there  are  vile  eyes 
that  look  on  the  works  of  genius — without  profaning 
them." 

"I  have  embodied  something  of  this  feeling,"  said  the 
princess,  without  directly  meeting  Paul's  argument,  ':in  my 
modelling  of  Daphne,  here.  The  nymph  "  (she  continued, 
crossing  the  room  to  where  the  beautiful  statue  stood,  with 
its  face  turned  to  the  wail)  "  is,  according  to  mythology, 
flying  from  the  god  of  day — Beauty  shunning  the  world's 
universal  eye.  Yet  see  how  Nature  has  ordained  that  she 
shall  thus  appear  no  less  beautiful !  The  limbs  are  seen 
to  much  better  advantage,  as  she  flies — the  two  arches 
with  which  the  knotted  hair  joins  to  the  neck,  certainly 
intended  to  be  admired,  are  thus  brought  into  view — the 
fall  of  the  shoulders  from  the  wealth  of  shadow  on  the 
after  part  of  the  head,  and  the  shaping  of  the  waist,  with 
those  two  exquisite  dimples  where  the  hips  turn  into  the 
small  pf  the  back — these  are  perfections  intended  to  give 
grace  to  beauty  in  its  flight — are  they  not !" 

"  Why,"  said  Paul,  laughing  at  the  artistic  earnestness 
with  which  the  fair  sculptress  maintained  her  theory, 
"  they  are  certainly  perfections  that  might  pass  unobserved 
in  a  Venus  who  did  not  turn  her  back  upon  us  !" 

"  You  are  a  republican,"  said  the  princess,  "  and  mock 
at  my  argument  for  exclusiveness,  of  course — but  I  insist, 


PAUL     FANE.  143 

still,  that  the  profaning  many  are  to  be  fled  from,  Daphne 
fashion  " — 

"And  from  the  Daphne  motive,  too — indifference  to 
love  ?'*  asked  Paul,  with  a  smile. 

"  Yes — or  it  is  just  as  well,  at  least,  for  the  mythology 
of  gossip  to  put  that  construction  upon  it — but  still,  though 
a  Daphne  is  very  likely  to  have  a  secret  lover  at  the  other 
end  of  her  flight,  Indifference  is  one  of  my  ideals.  In  my 
Antinolis,  here,  I  have  tried  to  express  it,"  added  the 
princess,  pointing  to  the  couchant  statue  on  the  left. 

Paul  approached  nearer,  and  looked  upon  what  he 
thought  one  of  the  most  exquisite  creations  he  had  ever 
seen  in  marble.  It  was  the  figure  of  a  youth  who  had 
fallen  asleep  after  slaking  his  thirst  at  the  fountain  flowing 
past  his  lip — his  arm  thrown  neglectfully  over  his  head, 
the  proportions  of  his  form  ethereally  delicate,  and  an 
expression,  both  in  the  unalarmed  abandonment  of  posture 
and  in  the  delicately  intellectual  features,  telling  of  a  never- 
troubled  spirituality  of  repose. 

"  But  this  divine  model  of  Indifference — you  have  made 
it  of  our  sex,"  said  Paul,  after  gazing  on  it  for  some  time 
in  silent  admiration. 

"  One  of  your  sex,  with  the  beauty  of  ours,"  said  the 
princess,  smiling;  "for,  spite  of  our  self-love,  it  is  a  law  of 
nature  to  love  our  opposites.  Antinolis  was  the  type  of 


144  PAUL     FANE. 

Indifference,  because,  being  beautiful,  like  a  woman,  he 
loved  no  woman.  But  that  was  but  a  portion  of  what  I 
thought  of,  in  first  conceiving  it.  My  intention  was  to 
mould  a  being  to  whom  both  sexes  had  contributed  their 
best — man  his  intellectuality  and  woman  her  grace  and 
delicacy — but  who,  from  this  very  perfection  of  equipoise 
between  them,  was  passionless." 

"  But,  in  the  excessive  beauty  of  this  creation,  you  have 
made  Indifference  more  attractive  than  it  is  in  real  life," 
said  Paul. 

"  I  think  not,"  said  the  princess.  "  It  is  loved  no  less  for 
not  loving.  We  are  not  told  what  passion  was  inspired  by 
the  masculine  attractions  of  Antinoiis — mythology  stop 
ping  only  to  chronicle  the  passion  inspired  by  his  feminine 
attractions.  The  Emperor  Hadrian  built  temples  to  deify 
this  half  of  the  perfect  nature  of  Antinoiis.  Indifference 
aside,  however,  we  yearn  to  find  all  qualities  in  our  ideals. 
It  is  for  what  genius  borrows  of  woman,  for  instance,  that 
I  love  it  most." 

"  Why,"  said  Paul,  "  I  think  our  sex  borrows  more  safely 
of  yours  than  you  of  us.  A  man  is  beloved  for  being 
femininely  tender  of  heart  and  delicate  in  his  tastes  and 
perceptions,  but  on  a  woman  all  masculinities  sit  ungrace 
fully." 

The  princess  held  up  the   skirt   of  her  artistic  tunic 


PAUL     FANE.  145 

with  a  look  of  inquiry ;  and,  as  Paul  looked  at  her  in  her 
male  attire,  he  could  not  but  confess  that  the  inference  to 
be  drawn  from  his  remark  would  be  but  true. 

"  In  the  intoxicating  presence  of  these  triumphs  of  your 
genius,"  said  he,  slightly  coloring,  "  it  is  of  little  import 
ance  how  your  outward  person  is  attired  ;  but  I  must  still 
own  that  I  have  seen  your  highness  dressed  more  becom 
ingly." 

"  You  shall  drive  home  with  me,  by-and-by,  then,"  she 
said,  "and  dine  with  my  turban,  to  remove  the  impression; 
but  come  first  and  give  me  a  criticism  on  my  work  in 
hand." 

"  I  had  already  found  the  features  to  be  very  like  your 
own,"  he  said,  as  they  turned  to  the  nearly  finished  clay 
figure  on  the  easel. 

"  The  likeness  to  myself  in  feature,  if  any  there  be,  is 
unintentional,"  said  the  princess,  "  though  the  feeling 
embodied  in  it  is,  I  will  venture  to  tell  you,  a  memory  of 
my  own.  I  call  it  Hermione — more  to  give  it  a  name 
than  to  represent  strictly  the  history  of  the  Trojan  prin 
cess — though  that  suggested  the  name,  and  it  might  be 
true  of  her,  perhaps,  at  the  period,  when,  loving  Orestes, 
she  is  compelled  to  marry  Pyrrhus.  But  I  have  endea 
vored  to  express  in  it  the  sudden  death  in  the  heart  from 
the  abandonment  of  hope — death  even  to  blank  uncon- 


H6  PAUL     FANE. 

seriousness  within,  while  the  limbs   and   pulses   are  still 
unchanged  in  their  outer  presence  of  youth.'7 

Paul  looked  in  silence  on  the  clay  figure  while  the 
thoughtful  artist,  now  interested  again  in  her  work, 
touched,  with  the  imperceptible  elaboration  of  her  mould 
ing  pencil,  the  round  of  the  forward  thrown  shoulder.  It 
was  a  nude  form,  more  slight  than  is  common  in  statuary, 
though  in  the  fullness  of  completed  development  as  a 
woman.  The  posture  was  one  of  suddenly  relaxed  impulse, 
the  clasped  hands  fallen,  with  the  fingers  half  loosening 
their  hold,  the  head  dropped  upon  the  bosom,  and  the 
partially  dishevelled  hair  dividing  upon  the  shoulders. 
The  poetic  meaning  of  the  conception — beauty  unchanged 
except  by  the  utter  withdrawal  of  all  expression  of  what 
it  had  lived  for — the  lamp  unbroken  but  unlit — was  car 
ried  out,  Paul  thought,  with  a  fineness  of  discrimination 
possible  only  to  inspired  genius.  But  there  was  an  expres 
sion  in  the  statue  to  which  his  mind  kept  returning ;  and 
of  which  he  tried  in  vain  to  understand  the  secret.  In 
that  nude  figure,  abandoned  forgetfully  to  the  support  of 
muscles  unsustained  but  by  instinct — the  character  of  every 
line  and  nerve  made  completely  natural  by  a  pervading 
palsy  of  grief — there  was  still  a  look  of  high  birth  unmis 
takable.  With  the  features  half  hidden  by  the  droop  of 
the  head,  the  limbs  undraped,  the  hair  dishevelled,  and  a 


PAUL     PANE.  147 

woe-stricken  prostration  of  all  movement  of  pride  or  grace, 
there  breathed  through  it  all,  unchanged,  the  something 
which  told  of  a  king's  daughter.  The  distinction  was  as 
marked,  between  this  and  the  models  by  other  hands,  as 
between  the  air  and  manner  of  the  princess-artist  herself, 
and  the  other  sculptors  of  Florence.  Now  wherein  lay  this 
rank  which  nothing  could  unclothe  ?  In  what  subtle  dif 
ference  of  line  or  mould  was  hid  this  escutcheon  of  pre 
sence  ? 

Paul  found  words,  after  a  while,  to  express  what  was  his 
embarrassment  in  the  study  of  the  sad  Hermione ;  and  the 
princess,  to  whom  the  remark  seemed  new,  entered  with 
him  upon  an  analysis  of  the  proportions  of  the  figure — 
without  success,  however,  as  to  the  solution  of  the  prob 
lem  in  his  mind. 

"Even  without  the  likeness  to  your  own  features,"  he 
said,  "it  would  have  seemed  to  me  that  your  own  undeni 
able  presence  breathes  through  the  complete  whole — as 
recognisable  as  a  spirit-portrait  might  be  to  spirit-eyes." 

"  It  is  natural,  of  course,"  she  musingly  said,  as  she  re 
touched  the  figure,  here  and  there,  while  under  criticism, 
"that  one's  own  nature,  whatever  it  be,  should  impress 
itself  on  the  model  as  one  works.  It  is  the  escape,  indeed, 
of  a  fermenting  identity,  which  might  else,  I  should  think, 
become  an  agony.  The  air  I  breathe  scarce  seems  to  me 
more  necessary,  in  that  respect,  than  the  Art  on  which  I 


148  PAUL     FANE. 

slake  this  thirst  for  self-tr^sfjlsion.  Love  or  maternity — 
perhaps  family  cares  or  chanty — may  be  the  escape-valve 
for  other  women.  I  have  tried  these,  each  in  its  turn — 
but  they  were  not  enough  Without  the  something  more 
— deeper  and  stronger  even  than  love — which  this  impas 
sioned  study  of  Art  gives  to  me,  I  have  a  prisoner  within 
my  inmost  soul,  who  would  madden  with  solitary  confine 
ment.  It  is  not  wonderful,  therefore,  that  you  trace  a 
likeness  to  me  in  what  is  thus  born  of  the  breath  of  my 
soul's  heart — though  that  scarce  explains  to  you,  after  all, 
by  what  lines  of  the  pencil  is  given  the  expression  of  blood 
and  birth.-'' 

The  discussion  reverted  again  to  the  other  statues,  and 
from  a  critical  analysis  of  the  Antinoiis,  Paul  picked  out, 
in  that  creation  also,  proofs  of  the  fascinating  artist's 
Unconscious  reproduction  of  herself.  And  so,  with  but  the 
interruption  of  a  lunch  of  sherbet  and  fruits,  passed  that  noon 
and  afternoon  like  a  dream  away !  The  two  minds  were 
at  home  together  in  that  luxurious  studio  and  its  enchant 
ments.  Paul  ceased  to  find  fault  with  the  male  costume  of 
the  gifted  woman,  when  he  found  how  thoroughly  and 
enthusiastically  she  became  an  artist  with  that  convenient 
outward  transformation — how  magically  complete  was  the 
sculptress,  with  those  firmly  held  pencils  of  boxwood,  and 
the  light  shaded  from  those  earnest  eyes  with  the  slouched 


PAUL     FANE.  149 

hat !     In  the  glow  of  her  genius  she  forgot,  and  almost 
made  Paul  forget,  the  woman  and  the  princess. 

With  the  beginning  of  gold  in  the  lessening  light  of 
the  afternoon,  the  slight  fingers  threw  down  their  pencils, 
and  the  pleasures  to  be  found  outside  that  little  world  of 
Art  were  reluctantly  remembered.  The  princess  retired  to 
her  dressing  room  to  reappear  in  her  costume  better 
known ;  and  as  the  sun  set  over  Florence,  the  two  artists 
— Paul  irresistibly  happy  with  the  spells  thus  magically 
wove  around  him — were  driven  rapidly  out  of  the  gate 
toward  Fiesole,  on  their  way  to  their  tete-a-tete  dinner  at 
the  Villa  G . 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

PAUL'S  thoughts,  on  the  morning  after  his  tete-a-tete 
dinner  with  the  princess,  were  not,  where  they  might 
easily  have  been,  amid  the  memories  of  that  bewildering 
day.  In  the  visit  to  the  strangely  hidden  studio  of  the 
eccentric  sculptress  and  in  the  few  dream-like  hours  which 
he  had  afterwards  passed  at  her  luxurious  villa,  there  were 
remembrances  enough  to  give  full  employment  to  a  mind 
at  leisure ;  but  he  was  doubly  pre-occupied,  that  morning 
and  with  things  very  differently  exciting. 


150  P  A  U  L      F  A  N  E  . 

On  the  table  before  him,  as  he  dressed,  lay  two  missives, 
either  of  which,  without  the  other,  would  have  been  suf 
ficient  to  monopolize  his  attention — the  letter  from  his 
mother,  which  he  had  read,  after  his  return  home,  the 
night  before ;  and  a  note  from  Miss  Paleford,  just  received, 
and  running  thus : 

DEAR  MR.  FANE  : 

Papa  has  commissioned  me  to  act  as  his  amanuensis,  his  only 
hand  being  disabled  by  the  neuralgic  trouble  to  which  he  is 
liable,  and  I  obey — only  with  a  little  uncommissioned  variation 
of  my  own. 

A  young  gentleman,  the  eon  of  one  of  our  old  friends  and 
neighbors  in  England,  has  arrived  in  Florence,  and  we  have  just 
received  a  note  from  him  through  the  post.  As  papa  will  not 
be  well  enough  to  see  him  to-day,  he  wishes  me  to  endeavor  to 
time  the  visit  more  conveniently  by  inviting  him  to  tea  to-morrow 
evening.  But  it  occurred  to  me,  that,  as  a  stranger,  he  might  not 
readily  find  the  way  to  us  without  a  guide ;  and  that  perhaps  you 
would  not  object  to  give  us  the  pleasure  of  your  company  the 
same  evening,  and  bring  him  with  you.  At  the  embassy  reception 
to-night,  you  will  meet  this  gentleman  (Mr.  Ashly — I  liked  to  have 
forgotten  to  mention  his  name)  and  any  one  will  introduce  you; 
so  that  you  can  propose  and  arrange  it.  Pray  do  not  disappoint 
us.  We  shall  look  for  you  at  our  usual  early  tea-hour,  and,  mean 
time,  dear  Mr.  Fane,  I  remain 

Yours  very  truly, 

SYBIL  PALEFORD 


PAUL     FANE.  151 

The  nerve  out  of  tune  in  Paul's  heart  was  struck  by 
that  well-remembered  name.  And  the  excitement  was 
not  alone  from  what  it  recalled — the  cold  eye  from  which 
he  had  received  his  first  humiliation.  One  evening  at  the 
Palefords,  the  conversation  turning  upon  their  home  asso 
ciations  in  England,  there  had  been  a  chance  mention 
of  the  Ashlys  as  their  wealthiest  neighbors  ;  and,  by  a 
question  or  two,  he  identified  them  with  those  he  had 
seen.  The  young  Mr.  Ashly,  now  in  Florence,  he  knew 
also,  was  the  eldest  son,  and  heir  to  the  large  fortune  of 
the  old  and  proud  family. 

Miss  Paleford's  note  was  flattering — assuming,  as  it  did, 
that  there  could  be  no  doubt  of  the  agreeableness,  to  Mr. 
Ashly,  of  the  proposed  frank  offer  of  a  service  from  the 
new  acqaintance ;  and,  had  the  stranger  borne  any  other 
name,  Paul  would  have  taken  this  for  granted  without 
giving  it  a  second  thought.  But,  with  the  mere  name 
of  Ashly  came  a  vague  presentiment  of  a  slight ;  while 
the  compliance  with  the  lady's  request  would  be  an 
infringement  upon  a  rule  he  had  laid  down  for  himself 
on  his  first  landing  in  Europe — one  by  which  his  sensitive 
pride  might  shelter  itself  from  the  possibility  of  mortifi 
cation  by  rebuff — that  he  would  ask  an  introduction  to 
no  one.  Thus  far  it  had  been  carefully  observed.  His 
acquaintances  had  been  either  wholly  incidental,  or  they 
were  such  as  had  made  the  first  advance.  To  break  this 


152  P  A  U  L       F  A  N  E. 

rule  at  all  would  be  the  sacrifice  of  a  broad  and  compre 
liensive  generality,  which,  always  to  be  able  to  assert  was 
to  have  a  weapon  in  reserve ;  but,  to  break  it — now,  and 
for  the  first  time — for  an  Ashly,  and  her  brother ! 

Still,  the  refusal  of  a  request  so  simple,  and  made  by 
Miss  Sybil  herself,  was  not  to  be  thought  of.  It  must 
be  a  better  reason,  indeed,  than  a  whimsical  and  un- 
confessed  sensitiveness  of  his  own,  that  should  stand  in 
the  way  of  his  shielding  his  invalid  friend,  Colonel  Pale- 
ford,  from  an  inconvenience.  The  manner  in  which  he 
was  to  perform  the  duty  was  the  only  question ;  and, 
with  a  thought  which  occurred  to  him  on  this  point, 
he  took  his  hat  and  crossed  the  Square  to  the  lodgings 
of  an  English  acquaintance. 

Being  a  close  student  of  men,  as  well  as  of  the  gentler 
sex,  Paul  had  become  interested,  very  soon  after  his  arrival 
in  Florence,  in  an  Englishman  who,  by  his  own  country 
men,  was  called  "  a  character."  This  gentleman,  Mr. 
Tetherly,  was  a  bachelor  of  about  fifty  years  of  age,  who 
had  lived  all  his  life  independently  idle,  upon  a  small 
but  certain  income — for  the  last  few  years  having  taken 
up  his  permanent  residence  in  Florence  as  the  most 
economical  and  agreeable  capital  of  Europe,  and  being 
now  known,  at  the  cafes  and  elsewhere,  as  one  of  the 
"  fixtures."  He  was  first  pointed  out  to  Paul  as  the  man 
who  had  refused  to  be  presented  at  court — the  English 


PAUL     FANE.  153 

ambassador  having  taken  a  great  fancy  to  him,  and  pro 
posing  it,  but  Mr.  Tetherly  declining  on  the  ground  that 
he  was  the  son  of  a  tradesman,  not  presentable  at  his 
own  court  at  home,  and  therefore  not  entitled  to  it 
abroad.  The  diplomatic  official,  liking  him  no  less  for 
this  independence,  had  persevered  in  cultivating  him, 
however,  and,  by  frequent  invitation  and  attention,  he 
had  gradually  become  one  of  the  habitues  of  the  English 


Between  Paul  and  him  there  had  grown  up,  from  their 
first  introduction,  a  cordial  understanding.     Meeting  con- 

o  o 

stantly  at  the  cafes  and  restaurants,  and  lingering  in  talk, 
when  they  thus  had  the  chance  opportunity,  as  well  as  in 
society,  they  soon  needed  nothing  of  a  friendship  but  the 
avowing  it — just  the  point  of  intimacy,  either  in  love  or 
friendship,  where  Mr.  Tetherly's  cautious  reserve  brought 
him  usually  to  a  stand-still.  Exactly  to  know  his  own 
place  and  keep  it,  was  his  hobby ;  and  though  his  educa 
tion  at  an  English  university,  and  his  long  experience 
abroad,  had  so  liberalized  him  that  his  speciality  was  never 
obtrusive,  it  was  still  his  secret  habit  of  mind,  never  inter 
mitted  or  forgotten.  Among  ladies — with  whom  his  kind- 
heartedness,  wit,  and  refinement  made  him  a  favorite — he 
kept  always  his  sentry-thought  in  the  background,  making 
sure  that  he  was  falling  into  no  manner  of  illusion ;  and, 
among  men,  he  was  perpetually  measuring  his  own  value, 


154  PAUL    FANE. 

and  questioning  and   anatomizing  every  civility  and    ap 
proach. 

But  while  of  the  misanthropy  that  only  measures  and 
depreciates  others  he  had  none — his  rule  and  plummet 
being  applied  only  with  perpetual  comparison  to  himself — 
Mr.  Tetherly  was  the  best  of  reference  and  authority  as  to 
social  distinctions,  and  niceties  of  observance  and  conduct. 
To  Paul,  with  his  republican  newness  to  that  part  of 
foreign  life  which  was  artificial,  this  was  an  invaluable 
quality  in  a  mind  to  which  he  had  daily  access ;  and  it 
was  therefore  with  a  happy  sense  of  relief  that  he  now 
turned  to  his  English  friend  for  advice  as  to  the  execution 

O 

of  Miss  Paleford's  commission. 

"Just  in  time  for  a  cup  of  tea,  my  dear  Fane !"  exclaimed 
the  bachelor,  as  Paul  opened  the  door.  "  I  was  that 
moment  comforting  my  loneliness  with  offering  one  to  the 
Baronet.  Down  You-Sir !  and  give  that  chair  to  Mr. 
Fane !" 

Mr.  Tetherly  was  breakfasting  alone — or  rather  with  his 
usual  companion,  a  very  sagacious  Scotch  terrier,  seated 
upright  in  the  opposite  chair,  his  paws  on  the  edge  of  the 
table,  and  his  eyes  fixed  with  nervous  attentiveness  on  his 
master.  The  hairy  countenance  of  the  animal  was  really 
intelligent  enough  to  talk  to,  as  was  the  solitary  English 
man's  habit,  and  he  understood  much  that  was  said  to  him, 
and  looked  as  if  he  understood  all  of  it !  His  name  of 


PAUL     FANE.  155 

"You-Sir"  was  an  abbreviation,  or  rather  a  variation,  of 
that  under  which  he  came  to  his  present  owner — a  certain 
baronet's  coachman,  of  whom  he  was  bought,  having  given 
the  pup  the  title  of  his  own  master,  Sir  John — "The 
Baronet"  his  name,  "Yon-Sir"  for  shortness,  as  Tetherly 
expressed  it.  With  nothing  to  occupy  him,  and  his  pecu 
liarities  preventing  his  forming  even  an  intimacy  which 
should  make  any  demand  on  his  time,  the  leisure  of  the 
bachelor  was  divided  pretty  equally  between  his  books  and 
the  education  of  his  favorite  dog. 

"Allow  me  to  wonder  at  this  lonely  breakfast  of  yours," 
said  Paul,  as  he  took  the  vacated  seat — the  terrier  becom 
ing  his  vis-a-vis,  by  occupying  his  master's  lap,  with  his 
paws  again  on  the  edge  of  the  table — "  you  might  so  easily 
come  round  to  the  cafe,  and  give  us  the  pleasure  of  your 
company  every  morning." 

"  I  have  thought  of  it,"  replied  his  friend,  hesitating, 
and  evidently  making  some  little  effort  of  frankness,  before 
finishing  the  sentence,  "  but  the  fact  is  I  can't  afford  it." 

"Surely,"  said  Paul,  looking  at  the  well-spread  table, 
"you  could  breakfast  for  much  less" — 

"Pardon  me,"  interrupted  Tetherly,  "I  forgot  that  you 
were  not  aware  of  what  I  am  obliged  to  economize  most. 
It  is  not  money,  but  self-esteem,  that  I  was  thinking  of 
saving.  I  get  tired  of  myself  if  I  begin  too  early — or, 
rather,  I  need  to  feel  like  a  flower  new-blown,  or  a  gentle- 


156  PAUL     FANE. 

man  fresh  from  silence  and  solitude,  to  fancy  myself  agree 
able  to  people.  Don't  you  think,  yourself,  that  a  man 
who  has  breakfasted  out,  comes  stale  and  second-hand,  for 
instance,  to  a  dinner-party  ?" 

"  Why,"  said  Paul,  laughing,  "  I  might  confess  to  a  more 
sentimental  cherishing  of  the  same  idea.  It  has  often 
occurred  to  me  that  marriage,  if  it  had  no  other  privilege 
than  that  of  breakfasting  alone  with  a  beloved  wdrnan, 
would  be  an  invaluable  happiness — looking  into  her  eyes 
when  first  opened  after  the  sacredness  of  sleep — hearing 
her  voice  with  the  first  words  uttered  after  dream-talk 
with  angels.  Night,  it  always  seemed  to  me,  re-hallows 
the  presence  and  re-virgins  the  beauty  of  woman." 

"Um  ! — that  is  putting  rather  too  fine  an  edge  upon  it," 
said  Tetherly,  smiling  at  Paul's  poetical  innocence,  "  or,  at 
least,  I  never  came  so-  near  breakfasting,  that  way,  with  a 
nice  wom-aUj  as  to  inquire  what  made  it  agreeable.  But  I 
mean  to  say  that,  as  a  social  principle,  common  to  both 
sexes,  privacy  is  dignifying;  and  the  more  recent  our 
arrival  from  it,  or  the  more  impregnated  is  our  presence, 
with  the  known  fact  or  the  effects  of  it,  the  more  precious 
our  company  to  others." 

"  Yes,"  said  Paul,  whose  artistic  finger  of  thought  was 
immediately  laid  upon  the  nice  line  of  the  definition,  "I 
have  once  or  twice  in  my  life  seen  faces  which  owed  their 
charm  to  that  expression — looking  always  sacredly  fresh 


PAUL     FANE.  157 

from  privacy — and  it  has  occurred  to  me  wither  it  might 
not  be  cultivated  as  a  beauty." 

"A  flushed  face  is  the  opposite  of  it,"  said  Tetherly, 
"  and  that  is,  perhaps,  why  paleness  gives  so  distinguished 
a  look.  Calmness  of  countenance  might  be  cultivated ; 
and  so  might  the  unwinking  or  unalarmed  tranquillity  of 
eye  which  betokens  thoughts  coming  reluctantly  from  else 
where  ;  and  then  the  tone  of  voice  might  express  some 
thing  of  it,  both  by  slower  enunciation  and  by  being 
pitched  a  half-note  lower  than  the  key  of  the  conversation 
around. 

"  It  would  require  to  be  so  well  done,"  said  Paul,  "  that 
it  must  be  classed  among  the  reserved  weapons  of  the 
gifted.  A  failure  at  it  would  be  blank  stupidity.  For 
tunately  there  is  beauty  which  can  belong,  thus,  to  only 
Nature's  picked  people." 

"  And  what  is  to  console  the  tmpicked  ?"  asked  Tetherly 
— both  he  and  Paul  lapsing  into  a  reverie  of  a  moment  or 
two,  the  silence  of  which  was  broken,  at  last,  by  the  bark 
ing  of  the  terrier. 

"  Silence,  You-Sir !"  quietly  said  the  master,  as  he  reprov 
ingly  pulled  the  ear  of  his  dog ;  "  pray  pardon  the  Baronet's 
lack  of  discrimination,  my  dear  Fane  !  He  has  been  taught 
to  vary  conversation,  when  visitors  are  dull,  by  barking  in 
the  '  awkward  pauses.'  He  did  not  appreciate  the  resting 
on  our  oars  while  thought  was  under  headway." 


158  PAUL     FANE. 

"If  he  lack  discrimination,  he  lacks  what  his  master  is 
very  rich  in,"  replied  Paul,  laughing  at  the  novelty  of 
dog-supply  for  the  gaps  of  conversation  ;  "  and,  if  you  will 
pardon  the  digression,  my  dear  Tetherly,  it  is  just  that 
volume  of  wisdom  which  I  have  called  to  consult,  this 
morning." 

"  A  poor  oracle,  my  dear  fellow,  but  it  shall  at  least  be 
vocal  at  your  summons.  What  is  the  myth  ?"  The 
eccentric  bachelor  smiled  and  looked  genially  happy,  as  he 
always  did,  when  there  was  a  chance  to  do  a  kindness. 

"  You  will  laugh  at  the  commonplaceness  of  my  'myth,' " 
said  Paul.  "To  you  it  is  as  little  of  a  mystery,  pro 
bably,  as  the  meaning  of  a  fence  or  a  hedge ;  yet  please 
remember  that  what  is  shut  in  and  shut  out  by  English 
hedges  and  fences,  might,  at  first,  puzzle  the  Arab  who  had 
ridden  his  blood  barb  or  his  camel,  only  in  the  unfenced 
desert." 

"And  to  what  Yankee  Sahara  are  you  willing  to  '  own 
up,  then,  my  dear  republican !"  asked  Tetherly,  with  a 
remembrance  of  some  of  their  former  arguments  on  the 
respective  perfections  of  their  native  countries. 

"Social  distinctions,"  answered  Paul — "or  that  part  of 
them  which  may  be  described  as  the  ethics  of  introductions 
between  gentlemen.  We  are  a  prairie  on  this  subject,  as 
yet — with  here  and  there  an  obstinate  squatter,  perhaps,  or 
a  temporary  encampment." 


PAUL     FANE.  159 

"  Do  you  mean  to  inquire  what  gives  a  right  to  an  intro 
duction,  then  ?" 

As  Paul  hesitated  a  moment,  turning  over  in  his  mind 
how  he  might  best  present  the  handle  of  his  dilemma, 
"You-Sir  "  broke  the  silence  with  his  inquisitive  bark. 

"  Bow,  says  the  baronet,  you  observe,"  replied  Paul 
("  though,  with  a  slight  stammer,  he  prolongs  it  into  bow 
wow],  and  he  is  right,  as  far  as  he  goes.  But  it  is  what 
we  bow  to,  that  I  am  seeking  light  upon — what  is  implied 
or  involved,  that  is  to  say,  in  the  asking  of  an  introduc 
tion." 

"  Well,  then — to  begin  at  the  beginning — it  means  that 
you  desire  the  person's  acquaintance." 

"  But,  does  the  request  claim  equality,  or  does  it  confess 
inferiority  ?" 

"  Of  course  it  is  asked  as  a  favor — and,  so  far,  it  is  an 
admission  of  lacking  something  yourself  which  the  other 
has  power  to  bestow — a  favor  sometimes  overbalanced, 
however,  by  the  compliment  of  asking." 

"  Yet,  is  there  not,  after  thus  taking  the  position  of  appli 
cant,  a  certain  irreversible  inferiority,  likely  always  to  be 
remembered  in  the  mutual  consciousness  of  intercourse, 
and  certain  to  be  appealed  to,  in  case  of  a  collision  of  dig 
nity  or  other  quarrel  ?" 

"Why,  I  begin  to   comprehend   how  there   might  be 


160  PAUL     FANE. 

very  tangled  roots  to  the  question ;  though  the  common 
'flower  of  courtesy,'  above  ground,  seems  at  first  glance  to 
be  very  simple.  Let  us  see !  There  may  be  such  a  thing 
as  equality  so  well  understood  between  two  persons,  that 
the  asking  an  introduction  is  a  mere  convenience — like 
turning  out  for  each  other  on  the  sidewalk." 

"  That,  in  our  republic,  is  the  general  understanding  of 
the  matter." 

"  Then  there  is  a  homage  to  eminence  of  any  kind — to 
genius  and  achievements  such  as  have  given  a  position 
separate  from  rank  or  wealth — and,  in  seeking  introduc 
tions  to  such  men,  the  question  of  relative  position  does 
not  come  up." 

"  Two  points  disposed  of,"  said  Paul. 

"  We  come  now  to  differences  of  rank  such  as  are  acci 
dental  or  unachieved — men  of  old  families  and  new,  com 
moners  and  noblemen,  gentlemen  and  tradesmen,  the  more 
rich  and  the  less,  the  professional  and  industrial  classes." 

"  And  how — between  these  ?" 

"  Why,  each  individual  case  would  have  its  modifications. 
An  introduction,  asked  for  merely  the  pleasure  of  acquain 
tance,  might  chance  to  confer,  in  almost  any  case,  more 
than  it  sought." 

"  But  is  it  not  common  in  England  and  on  the  continent, 
for  a  man  of  inferior  position,  but  still  mingling  in  tho 


PAUL    FANE.  161 

same  society,  to  ask  an  introduction  where  the  acquaintance 
is  to  be  an  understood  condescension  on  the  other's  part — 
so  admitted  at  the  time,  so  acknowledged  ever  after?" 

"  Certainly — very  common." 

"  And  where  the  different  shades  of  position  are  doubt- 
ful,  or  so  near  that  they  might  otherwise  be  disputed,  does 
not  the  seeking  of  the  acquaintance  of  one  man  by 
another,  amount  to  an  admission  of  the  other's  inferiority]" 

"  Why,  it  might  be  so  construed,  without  a  doubt." 

"  And  there,  I  take  it  then,  is  just  the  point  where  the 
American  and  English  feeling  would  divide.  Our  people 
would  not  accept  of  introductions  in  society  on  these 
terms." 

"  The  desert-bred  Arab,  you  mean  to  say,  on  coming  to 
England,  instead  of  following  the  roads  like  an  Englishman, 
would  ride  across  the  country  as  he  has  been  accustomed 
to  do,  paying  no  regard  to  hedges  or  fences !" 

"  An  illustration  that  contains  a  forcible  argument,  I 
admit,"  said  Paul.  "  And  the  difference  between  the  two 
countries  (monarchical  distinctions  in  one  and  republican 
equality  in  the  other),  fully  accounts  for  the  difference  of 
feeling  in  the  matter.  But,  till  we  have  the  substance  we 
are  not  likely  to  observe  the  shadow — and,  till  we  submit 
to  monarchy  and  rank,  we  are  likely  to  insist  on  intercourse 
with  all  people  as  their  equals." 

"  And  so  I  am  sure  you  are  fully  allowed  to  do,"  said 


162  PAUL    FANE. 

Tetherly.  "  It  is  understood  in  all  continental  society,  I 
believe,  that  having  no  rank,  the  American  may  mingle 
with  any  rank  suitable  to  his  education  and  manners. 
Your  countrymen  have  no  reason  to  complain.  But,  after 
all,  these  are  vague  generalities,  from  which  the  deductions 
to  suit  any  particular  case  might  be  very  unreliable.  And, 
by  the  way,  if  I  may  ask  the  question,  to  what  particular 
circumstances  are  you  applying  our  argument  ? — for  some 
thing  seems  to  have  given  you  more  than  a  theoretic 
interest  in  the  matter." 

Paul  mentioned  Miss  Paleford's  commission,  and  the 
necessity  it  put  him  under,  of  breaking  his  own  rule  as  to 
asking  introductions,  still  reserving  to  himself,  however, 
the  secret  which  linked  a  separate  nervousness  with  the 
stranger's  name. 

"  Why,  of  course,  the  man  will  be  very  happy  indeed 
to  accept  of  your  offer  to  take  him  out  there,"  said 
Tetherly,  smiling  at  what  he  evidently  thought  to  be  a 
very  needless  sensitiveness  on  the  subject,  "  but  I  can  man 
age  the  introduction  for  you,  if  that  is  all,  so  that,. at  least, 
he  will  never  know  of  your  asking  it.  I  am  to  meet  him 
at  dinner  at  the  embassy  to-day ;  and  at  the  soiree  after 
wards,  you  can  come  up  when  you  see  me  talking  with 
him.  I  will  introduce  you  simply  as  a  friend  of  mine 
whom  I  wish  him  to  know.  Will  that  do  ? 

Paul  felt  more  relieved  than  he  could  explain  to  his 


PAULFANE.  163 

friend,  for  the  apt  and  ready  suggestion ;  but  his  thanks 
were  very  abundant,  and  he  took  his  leave  with  half  the 
load,  at  least,  gone  from  his  heart.  Too  uneasy,  still,  for 
his  accustomed  work,  he  took  his  mother's  letter  for  com 
pany,  and,  in  the  lonely  and  luxurious  solitudes  of  the 
duke's  gardens,  wiled  away,  with  meditative  idleness,  the 
day  that  was  to  precede  the  evening  of  trial 


CHAPTER    XV. 

PAUL'S  mother's  letter  had  lain  open  on  the  table 
while  he  was  dressing  for  the  soiree  at  the  English 
embassy,  and  it  was  with  somewhat  a  complex  feeling 
that  he  now  gave  himself  up  to  it  for  five  minutes 
before  going  out  for  the  evening.  In  any  newly  opened 
letter  from  her  hand,  there  was  the  presence  of  a  guardian 
spirit  which  he  had  hesitated  to  confront  with  his  promise 
of  adventure  of  the  evening  before — delaying  therefore 
the  reading  of  this  one  till  he  should  have  returned 
from  the  visit  with  the  princess  to  the  mysterious  artist 
— but  it  was  not  altogether  as  a  delinquent  trying  to 
make  amends  for  a  neglect,  that  he  now  re-conned  the 
already  well-studied  syllables.  There  was  another  very 


164  PAULFANE. 

important  ministration,  for  which  the  spirit  of  his  mother's 
letters  had  grown,  insensibly,  with  his  European  expe 
riences,  to  be  the  reliance.  Though  a  general  human 
want  for  which  it  thus  furnished  the  supply,  it  was  so 
far  American  that  it  was  one  to  which  the  atmosphere 
of  monarchical  countries  for  the  first  time  made  him 
sensitive. 

The  more  sacred  world  than  society — the  something 
of  his  own  to  which  all  the  exterior  of  his  present  life 
should  be  secondary — was  the  need  which  he  found 
supplied  in  those  letters.  He  read  his  thoughts  back 
into  his  mother's  presence,  before  going  out,  to  be  re 
assured  of  what,  more  precious  than  the  errand  out  of 
doors,  he  had  to  come  home  to.  The  association  so 
constantly  with  those  who  had  rank,  station  or  resources, 
like  nests  to  which  they  could  at  any  moment  return — 
to  whom  society  was  but  the  air  when  idly  on  the  wing — 
had  awakened  in  Paul's  mind,  gradually,  a  dread  of  the 
heart-sinking  sense  of  vagrancy.  To  be  everywhere  the 
stranger — only  recognised  as  passing,  and  with  no  value 
on  which,  at  will,  to  stop,  and  within  which  to  entrench 
privacy,  strengthen  resources  and  suffice  for  oneself — 
this  seemed  to  him  the  phantom  of  dread  with  which 
low  spirits,  for  a  traveller  so  nameless  as  himself,  stood 
ever  ominously  prepared.  There  could  be  no  smoother 
sailing,  it  was  true,  than  he  had  everywhere  found  it, 


PAULFANE.  165 

and  all,  at  present,  seemed  a  summer  sea — but  he  must 
have  chart  and  compass  for  voyage  and  venture  of  his 
own,  if  need  were,  or  he  was  adrift  upon  European  society 
as  upon  a  plank  in  mid-ocean. 

Bound,  for  the  evening,  to  a  scene  where  his  habitual 
welcome  was  particularly  friendly  and  familiar,  there  was 
still  to  be  an  encounter  with  eyes  akin  to  the  first  that 
had  ever  looked  coldly  on  him  (an  introduction  to  an 
Ashly) — and  it  was  perhaps  with  the  vague  shadow  of 
association  with  this  name  that  Paul  lingered  more  sensi 
tively  than  usual  over  what  was  dearest  to  him.  He 
once  more  turned  to  make  certain  upon  what  better 
treasure,  than  his  errand  without,  he  was  to  lock  the 
door  of  memory  within.  Thus  ran  the  concluding  pages 
with  which  his  mother  wound  up  her  gossip  of  home 
matters : 

*  *  *  Your  accounts  of  gaieties  and  intimacies  arc  very 
amusing,  and,  to  us  at  this  distance  at  least,  they  seem  to  be 
throwing  very  attractive  spells  upon  you  as  you  pass.  And  this 
is  to  be  rejoiced  in.  The  world  should  be  thanked  for  smiling 
upon  us,  if  it  will.  But,  in  these  glittering  eddies  along  the  shore, 
we  should  not  forget  the  main  current  of  our  life,  and  you  par 
ticularly,  may  as  well  be  reminded,  perhaps,  that  your  arrival  at 
the  far  outlet  of  ambition  and  culture  is  to  be  by  a  headway  slow 
and  unnoticed.  You  have  but  the  force  of  the  natural  channel  to 
trust  for  guidance  and  progress,  and  are  just  so  often  hindered 


166  PAULFANE. 

and  thrown  into  the  slack-water  of  inaction,  as  you  are  mado 
giddy  by  any  side-whirls,  or  excitements  such  as  are  objectless 
and  temporary. 

Of  course,  my  dear  son,  you  are  keeping  aware  of  what  there  is 
for  yourself  to  learn  among  the  gay  and  dazzling  scenes  to  which 
you  have  temporary  access.  Technical  and  professional  knowledge 
is  not  all  that  is  necessary  for  an  artist ;  an  acquaintance  with 
beauty,  in  all  its  varieties ;  of  shape  and  culture,  and  with  taste 
in  all  its  caprices  and  modifications  implies  a  knowledge  of 
human  character  and  manner  only  got  by  a  certain  conversance 
with  the  life  and  society  around  you.  But  much  as  there  is  thus 
for  you,  in  those  foreign  circles  of  fashion  and  gaiety,  there  is 
more  that  is  not  for  you — far  more  that  is  held  out  to  you  quite  as 
temptingly,  but  which  even  they  who  tempt  you  are  not  aware  how- 
worse  than  a  burden  it  would  be  for  you  to  accept. 

The  wisdom  enough  for  any  one  day,  or  its  choice  of  conduct, 
my  dear  Paul,  will  come  easy.  With  your  own  position  kept  in 
mind,  your  one  object  in  travel  never  lost  sight  of,  and  the  hopes  of 
a  self-dependent  and  industrial  career  kept  modest  and  truthful, 
you  may  always  decide  what  will  teach  or  profit  you  anything — 
very  often  deciding  quite  differently,  indeed,  from  kind  friends 
who  overrate  or  misconceive  you.  What  advantages  come  openly 
and  legitimately,  or  would  only  come  more  readily  were  your 
entire  circumstances  known,  may  be  safely  accepted ;  while  plea 
sure  or  advancement  that  is  in  any  manner  dependent  on  a  false 
position,  or  that  may  by  any  chance  be  thought  not  to  have  natu 
rally  belonged  to  you,  is  carefully  to  be  shunned.  g 

You  see  how  your  own  gay  letter  has  furnished  the  text  for  my 
grave  sermon.  I  could  not  read  of  your  daily  mingling  with  per 
sons  of  such  different  rank  in  life,  without  spinning  my  cobweb  of 


PAUL     FANE.  167 

possibilities,  and  fancying  many  a  tangle  of  embarrassment.  It 
still  occurs  to  me,  however,  that  your  rallying-point  in  a  chance 
difficulty  of  position  might  better  be  self-respect  than  the  humility 
I  was  preaching  to  you,  though  of  that  you  must  yourself  be  the 
judge.  To  a  reserved  pride  in  your  own  natural  qualities  and 
elevated  pursuits  you  are  well  entitled  ;  and,  while  this  need  claim 
nothing  in  the  way  of  honor  from  others,  it  might  still  remind  you 
of  an  elevation  at  which  to  forget  annoyance  from  those  naturally 
beneath  you.  The  lark  does  not  sing  the  less  because  the  swan 
called  him  an  upstart  as  he  rose. 

I  am  taking  great  comfort  in  sweet  Mary  Evenden  in  your 
absence.  She  comes  and  works  upon  your  easel  while  I  gossip 
beside  her  with  my  needle,  and  it  is  very  certain  (I  think  I  may 
trust  my  unskillful  eye  to  pronounce)  that  her  patient  pencil  will 
be  once  more  within  reach  of  companionship  when  you  return. 
She-  mourns  very  much  that  your  studies  are  not  such  as  you  can 
send  home,  enabling  her  to  get  hints  from  time  to  time  of  the 
direction  of  your  progress.  Your  absence,  she  thinks,  would  have 
no  estrangement  in  it,  if  with  your  mind  she  could  but  thus  be 
kept  familiar.  The  chatty  letters  we  get  are  not  from  that  portion 
of  you  which  she  knew  best — the  Paul  of  whose  genius  she  loved 
the  features — and  she  is  only  afraid  of  being  outgrown  by  this 
inner  physiognomy  which  is  thus  lost  sight  of  while  fastest  matur 
ing. 

I  do  not  know  whether  I  should  add  to  this,  by  the  way,  that 
there  is  a  chance  of  your  seeing  Mary  in  Florence.  Mrs.  Cleverly 
is  at  present  talking  of  a  year  in  Europe,  and  if  the  dear  kind  lady 
should  go,  she  will  take  our  old  pastor's  daughter  as  her  com 
panion.  The  twin  nurture  with  your  own  mind  which  the  sweet 
girl  might  thus  be  able  to  resume,  would  be  an  inexpressible  hap- 


168  PAUL     FANE, 

piness  to  her,  and  though  I  scarce  know  how  I  should  bear  to  have 
you  both  absent,  it  is  a  good  news  of  which  I  sincerely  hope 
to  send  you  the  confirmation.     Two  such  beloved  ones  breath 
ing  together  in  the  artistic  air  of  Italy !     How  I  should  long  to  be 
with  you!     *     *     * 

It  was  with  his  inner  eyes  thus  brightened — his  conscious 
ness  of  a  life,  for  which  another  sky  furnished  him  with  the 
light  and  air,  renewed  and  made  familiar — that  Paul  drew 
on  his  gloves  and  strolled  slowly  out  to  his  evening's 
engagement.  The  stars  seemed  looking  deep  down  belwixt 
the  overhanging  eaves  into  the  dim-lit  streets  of  Florence, 
and  the  passers-by  were  few ;  the  rattle  of  now  and  then  a 
rapidly  driven  carriage  over  the  smooth  pavement  being 
almost  the  only  sound  that  broke  upon  the  night  air  in 
that  quarter  of  palaces ;  but  there  was  unseen  company  for 
at  least  one  lingering  foot-passenger  along  the  dark  streets. 
Paul  turned  from  one  of  the  narrower  cross  thoroughfares, 
and  entered  upon  the  glare  of  the  porch-way,  where  the 
equipages  were  dashing  in  and  out  with  the  guests  for  thd 
festivities  at  the  English  Embassy,  not  feeling  that,  in  his 
own  solitary  walk  hither,  he  had  loitered  through  the 
hushed  shadows  altogether  alone. 

Dancing  was  not  yet  commenced  ;  but  the  band  were 
playing  waltzes,  and  the  promenading  couples  were  begin 
ning  to  take  their  range  through  the  formidable  length  of 
the  ball-room.  The  guests  of  the  small  dinner-party  which 


PAUL     FANE.  169 

had  preceded  the  general  reception,  were  just  from  table ; 
and  one  of  the  two  or  three  strangers  who  were  gathered 
immediately  around  the  ambassador,  Paul  supposed  must 
be  Mr.  Ashly.  After  making  his  bow  to  the  lady  of  the 
house,  he  made  the  tea-tray  an  errand  for  approaching  this 
group  of  gentlemen ;  and  it  needed  but  half  a  look  for  his 
well-prepared  eye  to  select  the  face  which  should  be  the 
brother's  of  her  whom  he  had  such  occasion  to  remember ! 
There  was  the  same  cold  grey  eye,  and  the  same  passion 
less  and  imperturbable  pallor  of  complexion,  with  the  curl 
of  the  lip,  even  in  repose  objective  and  contemptuous.  In 
figure,  Mr.  Ashly  was  slight  and  tall,  well  dressed,  and  of  a 
distinguished  look  quite  unmistakable.  Spite  of  the  unge- 
nial  character  given  to  his  first  presence  by  the  uncon 
scious  superciliousness  that  was  evidently  habitual  to  him, 
a  second  look  at  his  thorough-bred  outline  and  maintien 
would  scarce  fail  to  find  him  very  intellectually  handsome. 
After  shaking  hands  with  the  ambassador,  Paul  fell  into 
conversation  with  an  acquaintance  who  was  one  of  the 
group,  and,  seeing  Tetherly  occupied  at  a  little  distance 
with  a  lady,  he  thought  he  would  thus  wait  his  time  till 
that  friend  should  come  along,  as  proposed,  for  the  inci 
dental  introduction.  He  observed  directly,  however,  that 
Mr.  Ashly  was  taken  aside  by  Sir  Cummit  Strong,  who  had 
been  one  of  the  dinner-guests  at  the  Embassy,  and,  if  he 
was  not  very  much  mistaken,  he  was  himself  pointed  out 

8 


170  PAUL     FANE. 

to  the  stranger  immediately  after.  Of  what  interest  he 
could  be  to  either  of  them,  thus  far,  he  could  not  under 
stand,  though  he  had  once  or  twice  of  late  chanced  to  be 
the  object  of  a  preference  by  his  countrywoman,  Miss  Fir 
kin,  to  the  temporary  discomfiture  of  Sir  Cummit;  and 
Blivins  had  mentioned  to  him  that  Miss  Tina's  English 
admirer  and  his  female  ally,  Lady  Highsnake,  spoke  not 
very  lovingly  of  the  attache  in  his  absence.  Even  if  the 
baronet  attributed  his  unsuccessfulness  of  suit  to  Paul's 
hindrance,  however,  there  could  be  no  sufficient  reason  for 
calling  a  stranger's  attention  so  directly  to  the  offender. 

By  a  movement  among  the  company,  a  moment  after, 
the  gentlemen  in  that  quarter  of  the  room  were  drawn 
into  a  circle  around  the  ambassadress,  and,  at  the  same 
instant  that  Paul  discovered  himself  in  close  neighborhood 
to  the  stranger,  her  frank  ladyship  chose  to  remove  the 
ceremony  from  between  them  by  the  exercise  of  her  privi 
lege  as  hostess. 

"  Mr.  Ashly,  Mr.  Fane,"  and,  for  the  moment,  it  appeared 
as  if  those  chance- uttered  words  had  removed  the  only 
obstacle  to  the  fulfilment  of  the  commands  of  the  lovely 
Sybil. 

But  there  was  a  sudden  check  to  the  impulse  with  which 
Paul  was  about  to  follow  up  the  first  phrase  of  courtesy 
with  an  allusion  to  their  mutual  acquaintance,  and  her  com 
mission  for  the  morrow  evening.  To  the  smile  on  his  own 


PAULFANE.  171 

lip  there  was  no  answer !  With  the  Englishman's  recovery 
of  position  from  the  bow  which  civility  required,  there  was 
an  evident  limit  to  the  introduction.  It  was  the  Ashly 
look  again  which  Paul  felt  in  the  passive-lidded  turn  of 
that  reluctant  eye  upon  him  !  And,  by  a  just  perceptible 
compression  of  the  supercilious  lip,  the  expression  was 
unmistakably  confirmed. 

One  of  the  reigning  belles  of  the  court  of  Florence  fell 
into  the  line  of  Paul's  look  at  the  moment,  and  to  give  her 
an  arm  for  a  waltz  was  the  sudden  diversion  of  purpose 
with  which  he  covered  the  embarrassment  of  the  smile  so 
suddenly  checked  ;  and,  as  he  glided  away  to  the  measure 
of  the  enchanting  music,  leaving  Mr.  Ashly  with  an  appa 
rent  recognition  of  their  introduction  which  seemed  only 
more  careless  than  his  own,  he  found  time  to  struggle  with 
the  phantom  that  so  strangely  had  re-found  to  re-haunt 
him. 

What  could  be  the  barb  in  the  repetition,  now,  of  that 
slight  so  trifling?  Why  should  that  sister's  unintentional 
indifference  be  turned  in  the  wound  like  a  poisoned  arrow 
by  the  brother's  still  more  unimportant  coldness  in  a  civil 
ity  ?  How,  was  Miss  Ashly  not  forgotten  ?  Why  should 
the  brother  or  his  acquaintance  outlast,  to-night,  in  Paul's 
mind,  a  single  turn  of  the  waltz  with  that  titled  beauty 
upon  his  arm  ?  A  whole  court  present,  with  whose  throngs 


172  PAUL     FANE. 

of  rank  and  talent  to  be  familiarly  friendly,  and  yet  all 
made  inscrutably  valueless  by  the  indifference  of  one 
undistinguished  stranger ! 

The  waltz  over,  and  the  conspicuous  countess  and  her 
bouquet  taking  breath  together  at  the  head  of  the  room, 
Paul  took  advantage  of  the  approach  of  an  admirer  or 
two,  and  made  his  escape  from  the  glaring  rooms  to  the 
fresh  air  of  one  of  the  balconies  over  the  garden.  He  was 
joined  here  by  Tetherly,  after  a  few  minutes. 

"  This  is  diplomatic  air,  my  dear  fellow,"  he  said  ;  "  but 
we  are  not  all  born  to  it !  At  least  my  proposed  dodge  in 
your  service  has  been  too  slow ;  for,  remembering  your 
American  scruple  about  introductions,  and  finding  occasion 
to  practise  a  little  ambassadorial  reserve  in  the  exercise  of 
your  commission,  I  was  just  coming  to  you  for  further 
instructions  when  I  saw  you  introduced  without  me." 

"  Then,  perhaps  the  reason  for  your  reserve  will  explain 
the  manner  of  the  gentleman,  said  Paul,  "  for  his  evident 
unwillingness  to  accept  of  her  ladyship's  courtesy  prevented 
my  even  speaking  to  him  of  Miss  Paleford — the  only  use 
I  had  for  his  acquaintance,  you  know." 

"  Not  too  fast,  my  boy ! — though  I  think  the  lady's 
errand  must,  in  any  case,  go  unperformed.  You  could  not 
well  offer  Mr.  Ashly  the  civility  of  a  drive  with  his  present 
impression  of  you.  But  let  us  distribute  the  blame  a  little 
more  justly  than  you  are  likely  to  do !" 


"  Among  Yankees,  generally,  do  you  mean  ?"  asked  Paul, 
with  a  smile. 

"  Why,  your  belonging  across  the  water  made  the  mat 
ter  a  little  easier  no  doubt,"  said  Tetherly,  with  a  depreca 
ting  inclination  of  his  head,  "  and  my  own  remark  at  the 
dinner-table,  which  proved  suggestive  of  what  I  wish  to 
enlighten  you  upon,  was  complimentary  enough  to  your 
people  to  provoke  a  rejoinder." 

"  Thanks,  for  your  championship,"  said  Paul ;  "  but  of 
what  shape  was  Mr.  Ashly's  rejoinder." 

"  Now  we  come  to  your  mistake,  my  dear  Fane !  The 
rejoinder  was  from  another  person,  and  its  sentiment  was 
not  agreed  in  by  Mr.  Ashly — but  though  he  could  dissent 
from  the  speaker  on  the  general  question,  as  he  did  very 
quietly  and  decidedly  as  to  American  qualities,  he  could 
say  nothing  in  reply  to  Sir  Cummit's  personal  disparage 
ment  of  you." 

"  What,  abused  by  the  stiff  old  baronet  ?"  asked  Paul, 
with  a  laugh. 

"  Then  you  are  quite  sure  it's  of  no  consequence  ?"  said 
Tetherly,  a  little  inquisitively. 

"  As  far  as  his  own  opinion  goes,  not  the  least  in  the 
world — his  own  nor  the  opinion  of  the  ninety-nine  in  a 
hundred  who  are  like  him.  But,"  added  Paul,  after  a 
moment,  "  even  such  a  dull  abuser  may  be  listened  to  by 
refined  ears.  What  said  he  to  Mr.  Ashly  ?" 


174  PAUL     FANE. 

"  May  I  own  now,  that  your  distinction  is  a  little  inex 
plicable,"  asked  Tetherly,  "though  I  confess  that  its  dis 
covery  has  relieved  somewhat  of  the  embarrassment  of 
my  feeling — the  opinion  of  so  passing  a  stranger  as  this 
simple  Mr.  Ashly  of  such  interest  to  you,  while  that  of  the 
baronet,  who  is  so  much  more  consequential  a  personage 
hereabouts,  is  of  no  importance  at  all?" 

Paul  balanced  for  an  instant  the  unconfessed  secret  that 
gave  the  eye  of  that  passing  stranger  its  caprice  of  power, 
but  despairing  of  making  it  understood,  or,  more  probably, 
dreading  the  self-ridicule  that  might  follow  his  bringing  it 
from  the  shadow  of  his  own  mind  fairly  to  the  light,  he 
let  the  remark  pass  in  silence. 

Tetherly  went  on  to  explain  the  conversation  at  the 
dinner-table.  Miss  Paleford's  exceeding  beauty  had  come 
under  discussion,  and,  by  way  of  preparing  the  ground  for 
introduction  to  Paul  and  the  coming  excursion,  he  had 
alluded  to  him  as  a  friend  of  Colonel  Paleford's,  but  in  a 
general  mention  of  the  Americans  at  Florence.  The  allu 
sion  had  been  quite  enough  to  draw  down  a  torrent  of 
abuse  from  Sir  Cummit.  He  thought  little  of  Americans 
in  Europe,  generally;  but  made  out  Colonel  Paleford's 
friend,  more  particularly  to  be  a  humbug — "  a  color-grinder 
to  a  portrait-painter  by  the  name  of  Blivins,  travelling  about 
with  a  diplomatic  title  on  his  passport,  pretending,  for  the 
present,  to  make  his  addresses  to  the  rich  Miss  Firkin !" 


PAUL     FANE.  175 

Tetherly  had  waited  for  the  stormy  baronet  to  give  him 
an  opportunity  to  take  his  friend's  part ;  but  at  the  height 
of  his  unaccountable  tirade,  he  had  observed  the  ambasador 
rising  from  the  table ;  and  so  Mr.  Ashly  had  gone  into  the 
drawing-room  with  rather  one-sided  impressions  of  Mr. 
Fane's  desirableness  as  an  acquaintance. 

"  I  am  sorry  I  do  not  look  a  refutation  of  the  baronet's 
slanders  or  disparagements,"  said  Paul,  still  writhing  under 
the  infliction  of  the  slight  by  that  eye  of  mysterious  power ; 
"  but  there  is  at  least  an  error  or  so,  that  may  be  corrected, 
and  about  this  I  will  call  on  you  in  the  morning.  Mean 
time,  my  dear  Tetherly,  here  aro  bright  eyes  looking  for 
yon,  I  can  see,  and  so  you  shall  say  good  night  to  things 
as  mirth-killing  as  my  troubles.  Allans!" 

And,  taking  his  friend's  arm  into  the  drawing  room, 
Paul  left  him  with  a  lady  of  their  mutual  acquaintance, 
and  made  his  own  way  back  to  his  own  busy  thought-world 
at  home. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

IT  was  a  week  after  the  evening  described  in  the  pre 
vious  chapter,  and  the  sun  of  an  Italian  June  had  risen 
(her  father  thought,  suitably)  upon  the  birth-day  of  Sybil 
Paleford,  At  any  rate,  there  need  be  no  finer  morning  for 
the  birth-day  of  anything  mortal — and  mortal  (against  the 
general  impression)  Colonel  Paleford  thought  his  daughter 
might  very  possibly  be.  Everything  out-of-doors  seemed 
just  as  luxuriously  lodged  as  anything  in-doors.  Happi 
ness  was  as  sheltered  in  the  cobbler's  unwindowed  stall  as 
in  the  duke's  double-shuttered  and  costly-curtained  palace. 

"  Because  you  are  going  to  breakfast  in  the  country  at 
dinner-time,"  said  Bosh,  as  his  friend  played  with  his 
spoon  rather  daintily,  "  it  is  no  reason  why  you  should  not 
breakfast  in  the  city  at  breakfast-time.  Come,  eat  a  roll, 
my  dear  Paul,  if  only  for  bread-and-butter  corroboration 
that  I  have  you  back  again." 

Blivins  and  Paul  had  taken  their  place  at  one  of  the 

marble  tables  on  the  sidewalk  in  front  of  the  co/e,  and, 
176 


PAUL     FANE.  m 

with  dozens  of  artists  and  travellers,  they  were  having  their 
morning  meal  served  to  them  in  the  street.  The  fragrant 
coffee  and  the  tempting  dish  were  within  full  enjoyment, 
at  least,  of  the  beggar's  sight  and  smell.  Fair,  too,  looked 
the  baskets  of  the  flower  girls.  And  the  mirror-covered 
walls  of  the  cafe,  all  open  to  the  public  thoroughfare  as 
they  were,  gave  even  the  beggars  back  a  copy  of  their 
beauty. 

"I  see  Tetherly  coming  yonder,"  said  Paul,  "and  he 
has  been  doing  an  errand  for  me  this  morning,  about 
which  I  wish  to  have  a  chat  with  him  alone.  So,  my  dear 
Bosh,  get  off  to  your  studio,  and  do  not  expect  me  there 
to-day.  The  breakfast  party  at  Paleford's  will  last  till 
sun-set,  I  dare  say,  and  I  will  look  in  upon  you  at  the 
Firkins'  box  at  the  opera,  if  I  do  not  see  you  before.  No 
more  idle  days  after  this." 

And  off  up  the  street  went  the  compliant  Bosh,  affec 
tionately,  without  hesitation  or  question,  as  the  sturdy 
and  wholesome-looking  Englishman,  with  his  checked 
cravat  and  short  hair,  approached  from  the  hotel  neigh 
borhood  of  the  Arno. 

"Pardon  me,  if  I  refresh  the  gift  of  speech  with  a  cup 
of  coffee,"  said  he,  taking  Bosh's  vacated  chair  and  giving 
Paul's  hand  a  shake  with  the  two  fingers  he  had  to  spare 
from  his  stick,  "  though  my  exhaustion  is  not  far  from  what 
I  have  said.  It's  what  I  haven't  said  that  has  used  me  up, 

8* 


178  PAUL     FANE. 

my  dear  Fane  ?  How  do  diplomatists  sustain  nature 
under  political  silence,  I  should  like  to  know  ?' 

"  Then  you  found  Mr.  Ashly  at  home  ?"  asked  Paul,  as 
the  beckoned  Botega  held  high  his  silver  pots,  and  poured 
the  hot  milk  and  the  coffee  in  two  well-aimed  cataracts  at 
the  cup." 

"Yes  —  though,  if  you  had  not  wished  him  to  be 
enlightened  on  the  subject,  before  meeting  him,  to-day,  1 
should  have  sent  up  my  card  rather  later.  Like  yourself, 
though  engaged  to  breakfast  out,  he  was  breakfasting 
quietly  before  starting,  however — quite  ready  for  a  call, 
but  evidently  surprised  at  seeing  me  so  early." 

"  But  it  passed  for  a  mere  call  of  ceremony,  I  hope  ?" 

"  Yes — if  my  diplomacy  has  been  successful,  that  is  to 
say.  I  made  myself  out  to  be  on  a  chance  errand  at  his 
hotel,  and  apologized  for  killing  two  birds  with  one  stone 
by  giving  him  a  call  in  passing.  We  gossiped  for  an  hour 
on  indifferent  matters,  and  it  was  only  when  I  rose  to  go 
that  I  mentioned  you  quite  incidentally — remarking  that 
the  baronet,  whom  he  had  heard  abusing  you  so  at  the 
embassy,  had  taken  all  that  back." 

"  And  he  had  no  glimmer  of  suspicion,  you  think,  that 
it  was  news  meant  especially  for  him  ?" 

«  No — the  duel  passed  for  an  item  of  gossip  only.  He 
hardly  seemed  to  remember  you,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  and 
there  was  the  tight  place  for  my  self-command!  To 


PAUL     FANE.  179 

know  that  you  had  taken  a  whole  week  of  trouble,  and 
perilled  life  and  liberty,  to  set  a  man  right  who  had  mis 
informed  him  as  to  your  character,  and  then  to  see  him 
dismiss  the  whole  subject  with  half  a  wink  of  attention ! 
Why,  I  came  near  bursting  from  a  mere  suppression  of 
knowledge  !  But,  tell  me,  my  dear  fellow — unless  there 
is  some  very  mysterious  reason  in  the  background  (and,  of 
course,  you  are  at  liberty  to  keep  your  secret,  if  there  is) — 
are  you  not  putting  rather  an  eccentric  value  on  the  good 
opinion  of  this  Mr.  Ashly  ?" 

"  I  should  fail  to  make  you  understand,"  said  Paul, 
after  a  moment's  hesitation  ;  "  for  I  am  not  sure  that  I 
understand  it  altogether  myself— how  it  is  that  I  look  to 
that  man's  cold  grey  eye  for  recognition  of  my  quality  as 
a  gentleman.  A  circumstance,  connected  with  his  family, 
has  made  that  so,  however.  While  I  neither  like  the  man, 
nor  wish  anything  from  him,  his  opinion  on  the  fineness 
of  my  clay,  as  a  superior  or  inferior  human  being,  is  irre 
sistibly  and  inevitably  beyond  appeal.  Yet  to  be  of  any 
value  to  me,  in  the  way  of  approval,  it  must  be  wholly 
uninfluenced  and  instinctive ;  and  therefore  it  was,  that  I 
wished  for  a  man  of  nice  honor,  like  yourself,  to  entrust 
with  my  justification.  I  needed  that  Mr.  Ashly  should  be 
simply  and  barely  put  right  as  to  the  facts  of  my  position, 
and  that,  beyond  this,  he  should  hear  no  praise  of  my  cha 
racter  which  could  any  way  influence  his  judgment.  So  I 


180  PAUL     FANE. 

instructed  you,  and  so  I  was  very  sure  you  would  do.  He 
will  meet  me  now,  to-day,  thanks  to  you,  with  an  uncon 
scious  freedom  from  prejudice — a  tabula  rasa  on  which  to 
receive  a  fair  natural  impression." 

Paul's  eyes  dropped  upon  the  table,  as  if.  from  thinking 
aloud,  he  had  fallen  into  a  reverie. 

"  The  longer  I  live,  the  more  respect  I  have  for  what 
can  be  seen  but  by  one  pair  of  eyes,"  said  Tetherly,  look 
ing  kindly  and  earnestly  upon  his  friend,  and  commencing 
in  a  tone  of  voice  which  had  none  of  his  habitual  raillery ; 
"  a  man  has  oftenest  good  reason  for  an  idiosyncrasy ;  but, 
will  you  excuse  me,  if  I  tell  you  how  your  present  whim 
looks,  from  my  outside  point  of  view  ;  it  seems  to  me  sim 
ply  like  a  monomania,  and  one  over  which  you  would  do 
better  to  get  the  mastery.  It  will  be  putting  you,  else,  to 
endless  inconvenience.  I  am,  perhaps,  a  better  judge  of 
my  countryman,  Mr.  Ashly,  than  you  (who  have  never 
been  in  England)  would  naturally  be,  and  I  assure  you  he 
is  not  the  authority  on  such  points  that  you  would  make 
him.  He  is  a  gentlemanly  man  enough,  and  of  ordinary 
good  judgment,  I  dare  say ;  but  you  will  meet  such  men 
at  every  turn ;  and,  with  this  susceptibility  to  imaginary 
prerogatives  of  standard,  your  life  will  be  but  a  long  gaunt 
let  of  doubtful  appreciation." 

"  Pardon  me  ! "  interrupted  Paul,  "  I  have  seen  but  one 
Mr.  Ashly,  and  I  begin  to  doubt  whether  I  ever  shall  see 


PAULFANE.  181 

another.  Whatever  the  caprice  which  has  invested  him,  a 
stranger,  with  this  inexplicable  touchstone,  he  is  the  only 
man  in  Europe,  as  yet,  by  whose  presence  I  feel  it  applied 
to  me.  And  of  course  it  is  not  his  own  higher  rank. 
You  know,  yourself,  how  sufficiently  friendly  is  iny  footing 
with  those  who,  in  title  and  fortune,  are  his  superiors 
But  it  is  an  instinct  with  which  I  cannot  reason,  which  1 
can  neither  evade  nor  modify,  that  the  impression  which 
he  first  and  frankly  receives  of  my  quality — my  stamp 
from  Nature — will  be  incontrovertible.  And  yet,  I  say 
again,  that,  with  intense  curiosity  to  know  what  this  will 
be — desire,  therefore,  to  approach  and  be  conversant  with 
him — I  have  no  presentiment  of  liking  Mr.  Ashly.  On 
the  contrary,  thus  far,  he  has  aroused  my  antagonism  only; 
and,  the  question  between  us  once  settled,  I  shall  be 
likelier  to  be  his  enemy  than  his  friend." 

"  But  I  should  suppose,"  said  Tetherly,  evidently  some 
what  puzzled,  "that  you  would  need  some  antagonism, 
rivalry,  or  trial  of  comparative  strength,  with  him,  to  settle 
this  question,  or  is  it  merely  what  is  his  estimate  of  you, 
and  not  how  you  rank  in  reference  to  himself? " 

"  Why,  what  effect  it  might  have  on  faith  in  the  touch 
stone,  to  find  myself  in  any  respect  the  superior  of  the 
man  who  is  the  holder  of  it,  I  do  not  know.  Possibly  it 
mio-ht  assist  me  in  the  struggle  of  becoming  indifferent  to 
his  valuation,  to  find  that  I  could  write  better,  paint 


182  PAUL     FANE. 

better,  fence  or  fight  better,  or  "even  be  more  success 
ful  as  a  lover ;  but  the  question  is  not  one  of  talent,  you 
should  understand  It  is  not  what  my  grade  is,  either  for 
intellectual  ability  or  acquirement.  Nor  would  it  be  at 
all  affected  by  my  having  been  born  a  duke  or  a  peasant. 
It  is  simply  what  is  the  natural  texture,  coarser  or  finer, 
of  my  stuff  and  quality  as  a  gentleman.  The  clay  of 
mankind  is  of  different  grain,  you  will  allow,  my  dear 
monarchist,  and  not  altogether  dependent  for  its  fineness 
on  birth  and  breeding  ! " 

"A  tangled  theme,  my  dear  republican,  and  one  for 
which,  even  if  I  were  inclined  to  discuss  it  at  all,  we  have 
no  time,  if  you  have  an  engagement  in  the  country  to 
breakfast.  Shall  I  see  you  to-morrow  morning?"  asked 
Tetherly,  rising  from  the  table  and  giving  his  two  fingers 
to  his  friend,  with  his  usual  affectation  of  indifference,  as 
he  turned  away. 

In  another  half-hour  Paul  was  on  his  way  to  the 
Casa  G ,  and,  as  his  vetturino  took  a  more  thought 
ful  pace,  commencing  the  ascent  from  the  bank  of  the 
Arno  into  the  hills,  his  mood  and  the  glorious  complete 
ness  and  contentment  of  the  forenoon  seemed  scarce  in 
harmony.  There  was  a  gay  birth-day  celebration  before 
him,  and  a  hearty  welcome  to  it ;  but  the  reaction  of  a 
trying  and  eventful  week  was  on  his  spirits — a  week 
which  had  been  passed  in  the  care  for  what  society 


PAUL     FANE.  183 

would  call  his  "  honor,"  but  the  memory  of  which,  he 
found,  was  not  to  be  given  over  like  a  carelessly-turned 
leaf  to  the  past.  The  refusal  of  the  English  baronet 
to  be  put  courteously  right,  had  driven  Paul  to  seek 
vindication  by  the  detestable  extremity  of  the  duel,  and, 
with  Tetherly's  counsel  and  service,  the  hard-wrung  re 
paration  had  been  ample  enough — but  the  conscience 
to  which  he  had  been  educated  was  not  at  ease  with 
his  pride.  With  this  new  unrest  in  his  bosom — secret 
and  without  sympathy,  too,  for  the  events  of  the  just 
foregone  week  of  his  absence  from  Florence  were  proba 
bly  unsuspected  by  the  gay  spirits  with  whom  he  was 
presently  to  mingle — he  would  have  been  happier  with 
a  day  of  solitude,  or  in  the  company  of  his  pencil. 

But  when  was  ever  unhappiness  not  the  shortest  way 
to  be  more  loved  by  woman?  To  the  subdued  manner 
and  the  languid  eye  which  Paul  brought  to  the  festivity, 
there  was  the  instant  response  of  a  twofold  tenderness 
of  reception  by  its  lovely  queen.  Prepared  to  find  fault 
with  him  for  his  non-compliance  with  her  written  request, 
and  his  since  unexplained  long  absence,  the  beautiful  Sybil 
felt,  at  the  very  first  sight  of  his  saddened  features,  that 
her  thought  of  reproach  had  been  unjust  to  him.  The 
lingering  and  kindly  pressure  of  her  hand,  and  the  soft 
ened  tone  of  her  inquiries  as  she  welcomed  him  back, 
expressed  this  to  him  with  a  charm  for  which  his  de- 


184  PAUL     FANE. 

pressed  spirits  had  prepared  the  want  and  the  welcome. 
Made  lighter-hearted  by  it  for  the  moment,  he  did  not 
ask  himself  why  the  soft  smile  of  that  faultlessly  moulded 
mouth  seemed  less  in  need  of  a  certain  expressional  sweet 
ness  than  ever  before ! 

The  latest  of  the  guests  were  meantime  arriving,  though, 
among  these,  was  not  Mr.  Ashly.  Paul  had  noticed  that 
this  gentleman,  arrived  before  him,  stood  leaning  leisurely 
against  the  porch  of  the  casa,  watching  every  movement 
of  the  lovely  Sybil,  and  scarce  attending  at  all  to  Mrs. 
Paleford,  who  talked  to  him  from  her  easy-chair  near  by. 
It  did  not  require  an  artistic  quickness  of  perception  to 
see  that  there  was  a  movement  in  the  watchful  grey 
eye  which  indicated  an  inquiry  into  the  meaning  of  the 
attache's  very  cordial  welcome.  Paul  felt  that  he  was 
more  scrutinized  than  he  would  otherwise  have  been, 
and  was  so  far  pleased  that  he  was  sure,  now,  of  com 
manding  at  least  the  attention  of  Mr.  Ashly.  That  Sybil 
might  have  awakened  a  tender  interest  in  the  new  visitor 
(who  now  first  saw  her  since  her  childhood),  was  a  natural 
possibility,  which,  strange  to  say,  had  not  before  occurred 
to  Paul,  and  he  saw  in  it  the  sudden  prospect  of  a  level 
upon  which  he  and  Mr.  Ashly  would  more  fairly  meet. 

**  I  think  you  said  you  knew  Mr.  Fane,"  said  Mrs. 
Paleford  to  her  half-abstracted  neighbor,  as  Paul  paid 
his  respects  to  her,  after  leaving  Sybil. 


PAUL    FANE.  185 

Both  gentlemen  bowed  a  recognition,  and  Paul  en 
deavored,  as  before,  to  measure  the  indifference  of  his 
address  by  the  stranger's ;  though  he  could  but  perceive 
that,  with  no  relaxation  of  distant  coldness,  there  was, 
still,  a  certain  non-withdrawal  of  the  look  that  met  his 
own — differing,  thereby,  from  the  reluctant  half  glance  at 
their  previous  introduction — which  he  took  to  be  proof 
of  the  effect  of  his  friend  Tetherly's  errand.  The  unjust 
prepossession  was  removed. 

With  the  serving  of  the  breakfast,  the  queen  of  the 
festivity,  in  her  white  dress,  became  a  busy  mover  among 
the  guests.  It  was  part  of  the  style  of  little  cost,  which 
Colonel  Paleford  was  so  quietly  and  consistently  resolute 
in  maintaining,  in  accordance  with  his  little  means,  that 
there  should  be  no  servants  in  waiting  at  their  simple 
entertainments.  The  dishes  once  placed  upon  the  table, 
he  and  his  daughter  did  what  serving  the  guests  could  not 
do  for  themselves — a  very  enlivening  novelty  in  its  opera 
tion,  for  it  distributed  their  presence  as  well  as  the  fruits 
and  coffee,  giving  a  pic-nic  unceremoniousness  to  scenes, 
which,  with  the  difference  of  rank  and  languages,  might 
else  have  been  constrained  and  unequal. 

And  there  was  a  triumph  of  economy  over  cost,  too,  in 
the  splendor  of  the  apartment  for  these  rural  gaieties.  By 
the  colonel's  influence  with  his  landlord  vintager,  in  early 
spring,  the  rude  trellising  and  latticing  for  the  vines  had 


186  PAUL     FANE. 

been  extended  over  an  earthen  level  on  the  southern  expo 
sure  of  the  house,  and  shaped  into  a  roomy  hall,  with  col 
umns  and  alcoves.  The  apartments  of  the  o]d  stone  casa 
were  small  and  low  ;  but  the  pavilion  in  which  now  sat  tho 
English  ambassador  and  his  family,  and  a  few  of  the  most 
intelligent  of  the  nobles  and  beauties  of  the  court  of  Flor 
ence,  was  as  spacious  as  luxury  could  make  it,  and  it 
would  scarce  have  been  more  beautiful  if  it  had  been  built 
of  emeralds.  With  the  prodigal  fulness  of  the  leaves,  in 
their  June  ripeness,  the  light  came  through  the  tangled 
roof  in  the  brightest  of  green  and  gold,  and  no  stuffs  of 
the  upholsterer  could  have  exceeded  the  drapery  of  the 
side  columns,  with  their  fruit-laden  branches  and  tendrils. 
Nature,  that  looks  well  enough  with  any  company,  looked 
certainly  more  in  harmony  than  usual  with  the  refinement 
and  elegance  it  was  here  shutting  in. 

But  as  the  breakfast  gaieties  went  on,  Paul  found  him 
self  again  balancing  one  of  those  embarrassing  choices  of 
conduct,  in  the  light  shadings  of  which,  visible  only  to 
himself,  rather  than  in  any  tangible  trial  or  adventure, 
seemed  to  lie  the  shaping  of  his  destiny.  To  his  quick 
eyes  it  became  soon  evident  that  the  white  dress  moving 
so  actively  about,  carried  with  it  the  completely  absorbed 
interest  and  attention  of  Mr.  Ashly.  As  Sybil  stopped  and 
seated  herself  with  one  group  after  another,  conversing 
everywhere  with  the  same  childlike  abandonment  to  the 


PAUL     FANE.  187 

joyousness  of  the  hour,  he  dwelt  upon  her  with  his  gaze  of 
abstracted  and  forgetful  earnestness,  even  showing  by  the 
nervous  movement  of  his  lip  that  he  was  continually  on 
the  verge  of  being  surprised  into  a  passionate  exclamation 
at  her  beauty.  It  was  very  apparent  that,  in  the  exceeding 
loveliness  of  the  daughter  of  his  exile  friend,  the  cold  and 
reserved  man  had  found  a  wholly  unanticipated  enchant 
ment. 

On  easy  terms  of  acquaintance  with  most  of  the  com 
pany  present,  Paul  was  of  course  at  liberty  to  bestow  his 
time  and  attention  in  more  than  one  way,  acceptably.  He 
needed  not  to  see,  unless  he  pleased,  that  there  was  a  con 
tinual  opportunity  to  be  the  aid  and  attendant  of  the 
active  Sybil — sharing  her  services  gaily  when  occasion 
required,  and  meantime  excusably  lingering  near  her  and 
breathing  the  spell  of  her  charming  presence.  With  the 
familiar  abandon  of  the  whole  tone  of  the  party,  he  might 
thus  monopolize  a  great  portion  of  her  real  attention  with 
out  remark,  while,  just  as  unobservedly  (by  all  but  herself), 
he  might  find  any  one  of  several  other  ladies  sufficiently 
attractive. 

But  it  became  clear  enough  to  Paul,  at  tho  same  time, 
as  the  morning  wore  on,  that  just  the  portion  which  he 
might  thus  relinquish  of  the  smiles  and  near  society  of  tho 
fair  Sybil,  would  fall  to  the  lot  of  Mr.  Ashly.  By  several 
little  commissions  from  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Paleford,  the  lat- 


188  PAUL     FANE. 

ter  gentleman  had  been  made  the  occasional  sharer  of  her 
duties ;  and,  from  nearness  of  age  and  similarity  of  lan 
guage,  it  was  to  these  two  that  the  more  particular  attend 
ance  upon  her  was  by  general  consent  given  over.  The 
service  which  the  one  should  fail  to  render,  would  be  per 
formed  by  the  other — the  call  to  her  side  for  which  one 
might  not  be  on  the  watch,  would  seem  as  if  for  the  other 
alone  intended. 

Paul  could  not  but  understand  that  Mr.  Ashly  was  what 
the  world  would  consider  a  very  desirable  "match,"  and 
(where  that  point  was  any  way  brought  in  question)  a  man 
to  be  given  way  to.  He  himself,  as  a  confessed  "detri 
mental,"  would  be  especially  called  upon  to  recognize  and 
even  promote  such  legitimate  precedence — by  the  neglect 
ing  and  avoiding  Miss  Sybil,  that  is  to  say,  or  otherwise 
creating  opportunity,  to  forward  the  better-freighted  bliss 
of  the  richer  lover,  if  need  were.  But  such  magnanimity, 
just  now,  on  Paul's  part,  was  not  to  be  altogether  spon 
taneous.  He  did  not  feel  sufficiently  kindly,  or  even  suffi 
ciently  indifferent,  to  Mr.  Ashly,  to  yield  the  path  without 
summons — before  he  should  be  seen,  indeed,  to  stand  at  all 
in  the  way.  In  fact,  his  pride  and  other  unwillingnesses 
sought  a  refuge  from  the  present  exercise  of  the  virtue ; 
and  he  found  it  in  the  apparent  coldness  of  the  lady  her 
self  to  his  rival,  and  the  nature  of  what  he  believed  to  be 
his  own  friendship  with  her — a  Platonic  intimacy,  he  now 


PAUL    FANE.  189 

insisted,  which  might  be  still  enjoyed  without  any  inter 
ference  with  the  claims  of  a  proper  suitor  for  her  hand. 

[But  there  was  an  episode  to  this  breakfast,  for  which 
we  see  that  we  shall  require  the  elbow-room  of  another 
chapter.] 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

To  the  reader  who  is  keeping  in  view  the  key  to  our 
story — that  it  portrays  only  the  vanishing  and  usually 
overlooked  shades  of  the  coloring  of  a  destiny  (the  "parts 
of  a  life  yet  untold") — it  will  not  seem  strange  that  we 
dwell  thus  principally  on  what  was  but  a  hidden  and 
unconfessed  thought  of  Paul's  mind  during  this  birth-day 
breakfast.  With  most  of  the  company  the  day  was  one 
(intellectually)  of  slippers  and  shirt-sleeves,  loosened  gir 
dles,  and  unbound  hair.  Such,  at  least,  would  have  been 
the  apparelling  of  their  thoughts  made  visible.  The  rural 
festivity  so  uncostly  and  so  simple,  was  a  mental  (as  well 
as  bodily)  taking  of  breath  in  fresh  open  air,  after  confine 
ment  to  things  artificial — a  change  from  the  imprisonment 
of  palace  luxury  and  ceremony  to  the  cottage  freedom  of 
plain  surroundings  and  gaiety  at  will.  And  the  guests 
were  not  only  such  as  could  best  realize  this  charm  of 
contrast,  but  they  were  those  who  could  be  at  ease  with 


100  PAUL     FANE. 

each  other,  under  full  abandonment  to  its  simplicities  for 
the  day.  Colonel  Paleford,  with  a  dignity  above  all  splen 
dor,  and  his  daughter  with  a  beauty  above  all  rank,  were 
the  best  of  bidders  to  such  a  feast.  But,  while  Paul  felt  all 
this  with  the  others,  and  was  busy  laying-  away  in  his 
memory  its  many  artistic  contrasts  and  combinations,  the 
haunting  spectre- thought  in  the  background  of  his  mind 
was  still  visible.  Trifling  as  it  might  have  been,  to  all 
present,  and  improbable  as  the  existence  of  such  a  thought 
would  have  seemed  to  her  who  believed  herself  (for  him, 
at  least),  the  sole  magnet  of  the  hour,  it  still  had  its  per 
petual  place,  and  acted,  with  more  or  less  influence,  upon 
his  every  look  and  movement. 

A  proposition  to  change  the  scene,  by  a  transfer  of  the 
coffee-tray  to  the  cool  spring  in  the  grove  below  the  hill, 
was  the  break-up  of  the  party  at  the  table ;  and,  through 
the  long  alleys  of  the  vineyard,  and  away  under  the  old 
chestnuts  and  cedars  of  the  small  wood  that  had  been  left 
to  shelter  the  spring,  were  seen  scattered  the  careless  pro- 
menaders.  The  movement,  of  course,  involved  some  new 
arrangements,  £or  which  the  fair  Sybil  must  call  upon  her 
aids ;  and  Paul  saw  immediately,  that,  in  the  joint  atten 
dance  which  would  thus  fall  upon  him  and  Mr.  Ashly, 
there  would  be  a  familiar  contact  with  that  gentleman, 
which  would  throw  light  enough  for  his  own  quick  eyes 
upon  his  secret  point  of  curiosity. 


PAUL     FANE.  191 

In  another  moment  entered  the  little  barefooted  regazza 
and  her  peasant  mother  (of  the  resident  family  of  the 
vineyard,  the  outside  attendants  upon  the  festivity),  bring 
ing  between  them  the  costly  tray  with  its  silver  furniture, 
which  was  almost  the  only  relic  preserved  from  the  reduced 
fortune  of  the  Palefords.  To  remove  this  heavy  article 
with  its  fragrant  load,  and  set  it  on  the  old  stone  curb  of 
tho  well  below,  was  evidently  to  be  the  work  of  two  cour 
teous  assistants — the  lady  herself,  and  her  father  with  his 
one  arm,  already  laden  with  cake-baskets  and  cups. 

"Mr.  Fane  !  Mr.  Ashly  !"  was  the  appealing  call  upon 
them,  by  the  sweet  voice  of  the  smiling  Sybil. 

Paul  stepped  promptly  forward,  and,  with  a  slight  incli 
nation  of  the  head,  to  express  his  consent  to  the  proposed 
partnership,  laid  his  hand  upon  the  tray. 

But  there  was  a  hesitation — a  single  instant  of  embar 
rassment — a  look  of  inquiry  to  Colonel  Paleford,  as  if  tho 
partnership  should  rather  have  been  with  him — before  the 
movement  was  acceded  to  by  Mr.  Ashly.  With  a  single 
glance  at  Paul  (but  no  word  of  courtesy  or  other  sign  of 
willing  fellowship  with  him  in  the  lady's  service)  he  then 
hurriedly  recovered  as  if  from  a  delay  that  had  grown 
awkward,  lifted  his  part  of  the  burthen  and  walked  on. 

Now,  while  there  was  nothing  in  this  at  which  Paul 
could  reasonably  take  offence — no  proffer  of  his  own 
rejected,  no  advance  of  his  own  repelled — there  was  still 


192  P  A  UL       F  A  N  E. 

enough  in  that  look  of  an  instant,  and  the  trifling  action 
that  accompanied  it,  to  decide,  incontrovertibly,  for  him, 
the  visionary  uncertainty  at  his  heart.  The  phantom 
question  was  answered.  Circumstances  had  combined  to 
present  him  fairly  and  fully  to  the  fatal  eye  in  which  lay 
the  power  of  pronouncing  what  was  his  grade  in  nature ; 
and  by  the  unprompted  instinct  of  that  eye,  he  had  been 
looked  down  upon  as  inferior.  The  disparagement  of  his 
quality  by  the  same  tribunal  once  before — the  sister's  cold 
eye,  in  which  resided  the  same  power — was  thus  confirmed. 
Even  as  they  walked,  now,  side  by  side — through  the 
vibrations  of  the  senseless  burthen  borne  between  his  and 
Mr.  Ashly's  united  grasp — there  passed,  it  seemed  to  him, 
a  magnetism  of  rejection  and  depreciation.  He  was 
denied  to  be  of  the  world's  finer  clay.  The  moss-covered 
stones  of  the  old  well  were  not  reached,  before  the  gates 
of  his  heart  closed  upon  the  admitted  secret,  so  long  held 
at  arms'-length,  and  like  a  barbed  arrow,  it  was  shut  in  to 
rankle  in  his  pride. 

But  with  the  setting  down  of  the  massive  silver  tray, 
there  was  a  new  liveliness  given,  all  at  once,  to  the  minis 
trations  of  the  lovely  Egeria.  An  ingenious  table  was  sud 
denly  constructed  by  a  lattice-gate  taken  from  its  hinges 
and  laid  across  the  well-curb;  the  turned-up  bucket  was 
placed  for  a  seat ;  the  coffee-cups  and  their  various  accom 
paniments  were  skillfully  arranged ;  and  every  want  of  the 


PAUL    FANE.  193 

extemporized  entertainment  seemed  to  be  magically  antici 
pated.  As  the  guests  came  in,  couple  after  couple,  from 
their  stroll  through  the  vineyard  and  grove,  they  were 
waited  on  and  served  from  the  fragrant  fount,  with  the 
graceful  gaiety  of  a  play ;  the  groups  were  arranged  pic 
turesquely  on  the  green-sward  in  the  shade,  and  the  per 
vading  tone  of  buoyancy  and  merry  unceremoniousness 
made  the  scene  less  like  a  party  from  modern  Florence  than 
like  a  romance  from  Boccacio. 

And  it  would  have  been  difficult  for  Mr.  Ashly  not  to 
see  that  the  conjuror  of  this  fresh  spell  of  gaiety  was  Mr. 
Fane.  In  the  change  of  this  gentleman's  manner  to  sud 
den  joyousness,  there  had  been  a  complete  magnetism  for 
the  spirits  of  the  company.  In  the  confident  aptness  of 
his  attendance  upon  Miss  Paleford,  his  ready  tact  of 
courtesy,  his  respectful  but  eager  promptness,  his  abandon 
ment  altogether  to  the  mirth  and  impulse  of  the  moment, 
it  was  evident  that  he  was  exercising  a  natural  gift  of 
becoming  the  ruling  spirit  of  the  hour.  Whatever  might 
be  Mr.  Ashly's  opinion  as  to  its  assumption  or  forwardness, 
it  was  undeniably  successful  in  superseding  and  throwing 
into  the  shade  his  own  dignity  and  reserve  ;  and  he  could 
not  but  see,  also,  that  it  sat  exceedingly  well  upon  Mr. 
Fane. 

But,  for  Sybil,  there  was  a  magnetism,  in  this  change  of 
Paul's  manner,  which  reached  farther.  Exhilarated  as  she 

n 


104  PAUL     FANE. 

might  easily  have  been  with  such  magic  anticipation  of 
her  wants,  such  skillful  service,  and  such  aid  of  herself  as  a 
centre  to  shine  and  diffuse  brightness  to  her  circle  of 
guests,  there  was  a  contrast  in  it  all,  which  was  alone 
visible  to  her,  and  which  stirred  a  thoughtfulness  deeper 
than  any  exhilaration  was  likely  to  have  thrown  its  light 
She  had  but  vaguely  realized,  before,  what  was  wanting  in 
Paul's  manner  to  her.  With  all  the  charm  she  had 
secretly  thought  to  possess  over  him,  there  was  a  reserved 
depth  in  his  heart,  which  his  manner,  hitherto,  in  some 
inexplicable  way,  assured  her  she  did  not  reach.  Without 
fairly  reasoning  upon  it — dismissing  it,  indeed,  with  some 
easily  found  excuse  as  often  as  it  presented  itself — she  had 
been,  still,  perseveringly  haunted  by  this  uncertainty  of  her 
power  over  him. 

It  was  changed  now !  There  was  an  entireness  of  pur 
pose  in  every  look,  word,  and  action — a  welcome  to  that 
and  more — which  was  new  in  Paul's  manner.  Its  expres 
sion  seemed  to  her  to  be  that  of  a  lover,  and  a  complete 
and  daring  one — one  who  wished  all  her  attention  for  the 
moment,  and  was  confident  of  deserving  and  winning  it — 
yet  with  a  lover's  deference  in  the  accent  of  the  words 
addressed  only  to  his  own  ear,  and  a  lover's  deep-toned 
earnestness  and  an  inexpressibly  softened  tenderness,  in  the 
attentions  which  were  for  herself  only.  It  was  the  making 
her  seem  the  whole  world  to  him,  as  she  had  longed  to 


PAUL     FANE.  195 

seem ;  and  the  response — in  her  gentle  yieldingness  of 
movement  and  tone,  and  in  the  more  languid  softness 
which  now  veiled  the  usual  clearness  of  her  eye — would 
have  startled  any  observer  less  pre-occupied  than  he  who 
had  caused  it. 

But,  in  thus  playing  the  lover  for  the  first  time  to  this 
beautiful  girl,  Paul  was  madly  unaware  both  of  the  cha 
racter  of  his  motive,  and  of  the  extent  to  which  he  was 
successful.  His  apparent  coolness  and  self-possession  might 
have  made  him  seem  more  than  usually  conscious  of  what 
responsibility  he  was  incurring ;  yet  these  were  but  the 
outer  workings  of  an  inner  tumult  that,  in  its  present  first 
waking,  was  wholly  ungovernable.  The  power  of  concen 
tration  that  was  his  leading  quality  of  mind — enabling  him 
now,  as  it  did,  to  bend  every  faculty  with  almost  unnatural 
aptitude  and  quickness  to  the  accomplishment  of  his  object 
— was,  for  the  present,  but  a  withdrawal  of  all  light  from 
conscience  and  motive.  The  slight  which  his  visionary 
sensibility  had  received  from  Mr.  Ashly  forced  the  long- 
gathered  darkness  of  the  cloud  in  his  mind  to  a  lightning 
point.  He  had  been  pronounced  of  coarser  clay — and  by 
any  possible  assertion  of  a  superiority  of  his  own  he  must 
lessen  the  contempt  of  that  verdict !  With  his  stung  and 
turbulent  feeling  he  did  not  stop  to  ask  himself  why  this 
doom  (a  doom  to  which  he  had  so  strangely  and  unresist 
ingly  assented)  should  be  revenged  upon  the  one  who  had 


196  PAUL     FANE. 

unconsciously  pronounced  it ;  nor  did  he  realize,  as  he  cer 
tainly  would  have  done,  with  time  for  reflection,  how  the 
retaliatory  exercise  of  a  momentary  mastery  over  his  cen 
sor — staking  all,  to  win,  for  an  hour  of  resentful  rivalry, 
the  preference  of  the  young  heart  aspired  to  by  the  other 
— was,  in  its  possible  injury  to  the  best  hopes  of  that  young 
heart,  at  least,  wanton  and  unworthy. 


It  approached  the  sunset,  and  most  of  the  titled  and  gay 
guests  had  taken  their  leave.  The  few  who  remained  were 
the  more  special  intimates  of  the  family;  and  for  these 
had  been  reserved  a  summons  to  the  little  drawing-room 
of  the  old  Casa,  where,  over  a  cup  of  tea,  were  to  be  pro 
duced  and  discussed  the  more  affectionate  secrets  of  the 
occasion — the  letters  of  felicitation,  the  flowers,  the  birth 
day  presents,  and  the  exchange  of  smiles  and  sweet  wishes 
between  parents  and  child. 

The  latter  part  of  the  entertainment  out  of  doors  had 
been  a  most  marked  carrying  out  of  the  morning's  vindic 
tive  triumph.  Colonel  Paleford  himself  had  watched  with 
mingled  feelings  the  more  thoughtful  and  assured  content 
ment  of  his  daughter's  manner,  and  her  complete  absorp 
tion  in  Paul's  every  look  and  word.  The  bewilderment  of 
Mr.  Ashly  with  her  beauty,  and  the  rejection  of  his  lover- 


PAULFANE.  197 

like  attentions,  which  was  contained  in  her  polite  civility 
to  him,  were,  to  the  clear-sighted  eyes  of  the  father,  equally 
apparent.  It  was  not  for  him  to  disturb,  even  by  a  look, 
on  her  birth-day,  this  dream  of  happiness  ;  yet  he  could 
not  but  sigh  over  the  advantages  she  was  thus  girlishly 
throwing  aside — worldly  advantages  that  might  be  so 
important  to  beauty  and  qualities  like  hers;  and,  in  his 
manner  to  the  depressed  and  discouraged  lover,  there  was 
a  tenderness  of  courtesy  which  indirectly  soothed  his 
annoyance,  and  which,  rightly  interpreted,  would  have 
been  to  him  a  whisper  of  encouragement. 

But,  to  the  exhilarating  liveliness  with  which  Paul — 
still  in  untiring  spirits — was  successfully  giving  the  tone  to 
the  conversation  at  the  tea-table,  there  was  presently  an 
interruption.  The  servant  handed  in  a  box,  which  had 
just  been  left  at  the  gate  for  Miss  Paleford — a  birth-day 
present,  doubtless  arriving  late — and  the  colonel  proceeded 
to  gratify  general  curiosity  by  opening  it  in  the  drawing- 
room. 

Paul  alone  was  in  the  secret  of  what  that  box  contained. 
It  was  a  copy  of  Sybil's  portrait,  taken  from  the  study  of 
the  group  of  three,  drawn  from  memory,  on  which  he  had 
spent  such  careful  elaboration.  Simply  framed  as  a  crayon 
sketch,  it  had  only  "  best  wishes  for  many  happy  returns 
of  the  day  "  written  under  the  address,  and  no  intimation 
from  whence  it  came,  or  who  was  the  painter.  On  this 


198  PAUL     FANE. 

latter  point  he  knew  very  well  there  would  be  room  for 
ample  conjecture ;  as  the  Palefords,  with  their  love  of  the 
Arts,  were  constant  visitors  to  the  various  studios  of  Flor 
ence,  and  the  colonel  was  a  kind  encourager  particularly 
of  his  own  countrymen  among  the  artists.  That  the  fea 
tures  of  one  so  generally  admired  should  have  been  taken 
for  a  study,  was  of  course  very  natural,  and,  though  a  por 
trait  without  a  sitting,  it  was  a  compliment  to  her  beauty 
very  likely  to  be  paid. 

As  the  picture  was  taken  out,  and  set  in  a  favorable 
light  against  the  wall,  there  was  a  universal  recognition  of 
the  subject ;  but  it  was  looked  at,  for  a  moment  or  two,  * 
with  silent  and  wondering  inquisitiveness.  Wholly  unsus 
pected  to  be  the  artist,  even  by  Sybil  herself,  Paul's  con 
versation — (between  the  awkwardness  of  giving  an  opinion 
of  his  own  work,  and  the  necessity  of  still  playing 
a  leading  part  while  listening  for  the  criticisms  and 
watching  for  the  first  impressions  he  so  wished  to  store 
away  in  his  memory) — became  a  matter  of  some  embar 
rassment. 

"  It  is  very  quiet,"  said  Colonel  Paleford,  at  last,  whose 
habit  of  mind  was  to  feel  his  way  to  a  decision  very  care 
fully — "  nothing  startling  about  it." 

Paul  mentally  thanked  him  for  that  much.  It  was  a 
negative  approval  of  one  of  his  chief  aims  in  the  design. 

"  And  what  do  you  think  of  it,  Mrs.  Paleford  ?"  asked 


PAUL    FANE.  199 

some  one,  as  the  invalid's  chair  was  wheeled  up  to  the 
point  of  view. 

"  Well,"  said  the  mother,  gazing  at  it  with  moistened 
eyes  very  tenderly,  "it  looks  as  I  have  imagined  Sybil 
might  look  when  she  is  alone." 

Paul  thanked  the  mother  in  his  heart  for  what,  to  him, 
was  very  sweet  praise  of  his  picture. 

"  It  is  a  fine  piece  of  work,"  said  the  English  ambassa 
dor,  who  had  scrutinized  it  very  carefully  through  his 
glass — "  a  masterly  drawing,  I  think,  if  only  for  what  it 
has  left  undone.  The  temptations  to  effect  were  very 
great  in  so  queenly  a  face,  and  the  artist  has  kept  true  to 
a  certain  flower-like  simplicity." 

Standing  a  little  apart  from  the  company,  meantime 
with  Sybil  left  to  his  more  especial  attention,  Paul  wai 
thoughtfully  treasuring  up  the  last  very  precious  com 
mendation  of  his  drawing,  when  the  fair  original  herself, 
somewhat  overpowered  with  the  discussion  of  her  beauty, 
turned  to  him  with  a  criticism  for  his  ear  alone. 

"It  seems  to  me,"  she  said,  "to  lack  decision,  and  to  be 
altogether  too  dreamy  for  so  real  a  person  as  I  am.  At  least 
I  do  not  feel  very  like  that.  What  is  your  judgment  of  it  ?" 

Paul  made  an  evasive  reply ;  but,  in  that  chance  remark 
was  expressed  the  difficulty  he  had  found  in  the  picture — 
the  want,  indeed,  which  there  was  for  him  in  the  magnet 
ism  and  character  of  Miss  Paleford.  It  explained  where 


200  PAUL    FANE. 

he  had  departed  from  the  likeness,  and  why  he  had  been 
compelled  to  make  the  expression  rather  what  it  might 
have  been  than  what  it  was.  But,  though  he  treasured 
and  remembered  these  few  significant  words  of  hers,  his 
attention  was  awakened  the  next  moment,  by  what  was  far 
more  a  surprise. 

Colonel  Paleford  had  watched  Mr.  Ashly  with  great 
interest  after  becoming  aware  of  the  little  drama  that  had 
been  enacting  out  of  doors,  and,  keeping  near  him  at  the 
tea-table,  he  endeavored  to  soften  with  his  own  tact  and 
kindness,  as  far  as  was  possible,  the  neglect  which  the 
slighted  lover  was  •  experiencing  from  his  preoccupied 
daughter.  The  conversation  he  had  addressed  to  him, 
from  time  to  time,  had  but  partially  withdrawn  him  from 
his  still  persevering  and  unequal  contest  with  Paul,  how 
ever,  till,  on  the  appearance  of  the  picture,  he  became  in 
that  entirely  and  abstractedly  absorbed.  "With  his  arms 
crossed  over  the  back  of  one  of  the  high  chairs,  he  stood 
quite  motionless  for  a  few  minutes,  looking  at  it  with  an 
intensity  in  which  the  living  original  seemed  almost 
forgotten. 

"And  what  do, you  think  of  the  picture,  my  dear 
Ashly?"  was  the  question  from  Colonel  Paleford  which 
had  arrested  Paul's  ear,  and  made  him  a  listener  to  the 
reply,  so  wholly  unexpected. 

"  I  should  like  very  much  to  know  the  artist**  ho  said, 


PAUL     FANE.  201 

with  the  slow  enunciation  of  one  thinking  aloud.  "  That 
sketch  is  from  a  quality  of  genius  that  I  have  been  trying 
for  years  to  find." 

"  Why,  I  thought  myself,  that  the  touch  was  very  deli 
cate,"  said  the  Colonel,  assenting  and  'approaching  the 
picture. 

"  Something  of  that,  perhaps,  too,"  continued  Mr.  Ashly 
"but  I  referred  to  the  expression  only.  The  artist  has 
gone  deeper  than  the  face,  for  his  sitter." 

"  Less  a  likeness  than  an  ideal,  then,  you  think  ?'7 

"No!  I  have  not  yet  quite  made  myself  understood,11 
the  still  half-musing  critic  went  on  to  say.  "  There  are 
plenty  of  artists  who  idealize  a  portrait,  but  it  is  only  their 
way  of  softening  defects  of  feature,  or  oftener,  perhaps,  of 
slighting  something  difficult  to  draw.  It  is  an  easy  modo 
of  flattering  the  subject.  But  the  departure  from  literal 
likeness  in  this  sketch,  seems  to  me  only  a  more  clear 
sighted  faithfulness  to  the  original.  I  feel  in  looking  at 
that,  as  if  my  own  previous  impression  of  the  face  were 
corrected  by  a  deeper-seeing  observer." 

(Paul  began  to  feel  that  what  he  had  tried  to  believe  of 
Miss  Paleford's  character  of  mind,  and  painted  accordingly, 
was,  to  her  more  real  lover,  a  full  faith.) 

"You  find  it  to  be  an  intellectually  true  portrait  of 
Sybil  ?"  said  the  father,  «  looking  inquiringly  to  and  fro 
between  his  daughter  a  ?  the  picture. 


202  PAUL     FANE. 

"Pardon  me! — one  more  distinction!"  persisted  Mr. 
Ashly.  It  is  the  due  proportion  given  to  the  qualities  of 
character,  as  well  as  to  those  of  the  mind,  which  makes  its 
peculiarity.  The  artist  has  gone  in  and  seen  her  whole 
nature,  with  spirit-perception.  lie  has  read  her  heart  as 
well  as  recognised  her  thoughts.  And  it  is  not  a  picture 
of  any  one  look  or  any  special  mood  of  mind.  It  is  the 
unconscious  repose  of  expression  that  she  might  have,  as 
Mrs.  Paleford  just  now  said,  "  when  she  is  alone" — a  pure 
woman's  mere  calm  of  life  when  just  risen  from  her  morn 
ing  prayer.  Believe  me,  my  dear  colonel,  that  artist  has 
what  is  called  '  inspiration  !'  When  at  work  at  his  art,  at 
least,  whoever  he  is,  he  is  a  noble-natured  and  superior 
man." 

(Could  Paul  believe  his  ears  ?     Was  the  utterer  of  these 

^ 
words  the  man  from  whom  he  thought  he  had  received 

unpardonable  contempt?  And — second  thought! — could 
he  forgive  himself  for  the  revenge  he  had  taken  for  what 
was  now  so  evidently  but  a  passing  impression  of  himself, 
acted  upon  with  no  knowledge  of  his  inner  and  better 
nature?) 

"Of  course  you  will  soon  know  who  was  the  artist?'7 
said  Mr.  Ashly,  looking  at  the  colonel  over  his  shoulder  as 
he  stepped  forward  to  Mrs.  Paleford  to  offer  her  his  hand 
and  take  his  leave. 

"  To-morrow,  I  dare  say  ;  and  we  will  take  you  to  him 


PAUI.FAWB.  203 

at  once,  to  see  his  other  works — (though  to  tell  the  truth, 
I  have  not  the  remotest  idea  which  of  our  artist  friends  it 
can  be) — but  why  are  you  off,  my  dear  Ashly  ?"  said  the 
hospitable  host,  retaining  the  hand  of  his  guest. 

The  movement  was  a  signal  for  dispersion,  however,  and 
Paul,  with  scarce  self-command  enough  left  under  this  new 
reaction,  to  make  a  farewell  consistent  at  all  with  his 
doings  for  the  day,  said  adieu  under  cover  of  the  general 
stir,  and  took  his  way,  with  the  thickening  twilight, 
toward  town.  lie  needed  solitude.  He  saw  life  getting 
tangled  before  him ;  and,  to  be  at  peace  with  himself 
again,  there  was  much  of  what  he  had  lately  done  that  he 
must  mourn  over  and  undo. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

AUTUMN  had  been  brought  round  by  the  pitilessly 
punctual  wheel  of  the  Seasons,  and  the  trees  probably  felt 
— as  Blivins  chanced  to  feel  with  a  corresponding  Octo- 
berness — that  their  attraction,  for  what  they  had  most 
rejoiced  in,  was  beginning  to  weaken.  The  leaves  clung 
with  less  constancy  to  the  trees,  and  Paul  seemed  to 
adhere  with  less  and  less  flourishing  perpetuity  of  vegeta 
tion  to  his  faithful  Bosh.  From  passing  every  day,  and  the 
whole  day,  at  the  Blivins  studio,  Paul  was  now  but  an 
occasional  visitor  there — his  work  at  that  neglected  easel 
on  the  other  side  of  the  room,  indeed,  becoming  daily 
more  uncertain  and  brief.  And  it  was  like  a  departure  of 
summer  that  Bosh  felt  this  falling  off.  He  would  have 
expressed  it  clumsily  in  words,  probably,  but  he  had  an 
affection  for  his  college  room-mate  that  had  leaved  out  into 
a  most  umbrageous  ever-pleasantness ;  and,  oh,  the  wintri- 
ness  of  shedding  such  foliage  of  the  soul ! 

If  it  had  been  only  that  Paul  was  growing  idle,  or  had 

204 


PAUL     PANE.  205 

more  studying  to  do  at  the  Galleries,  or  if,  for  any  reason 
but  the  apparently  real  one,  he  was  now  bestowing  less 
time  and  talk  on  his  old  chum  and  crony,  the  consolation 
might  have  been  easier  to  find.  But  there  was  an  infer 
ence  which  made  it  a  slight,  as  well  as  a  neglect.  It  was 
another  friend — another  artist — who  was  taking  Bosh's 
place  as  an  intimate.  There  was  even  another  studio,  where 
was  set  an  easel  at  which  the  faithless  fellow  spent  the 
day  with  his  pencil.  Those  long  and  precious  hours  of 
gossip  over  work,  the  un-pumped  flow  of  thoughts  welling 
like  a  spring,  were  not  only  thirsty  Bosh's,  no  more,  but 
somebody  else's ! 

Upon  this  new  intimacy  and  its  peculiar  attraction, 
Paul  was,  somehow,  curiously  incommunicative.  He  not 
only  would  not  introduce  Blivins  to  his  friend  the  sculptor, 
but,  in  their  still  daily  conversations  at  their  eomrnon 
lodgings,  he  could  not  be  hinted  into  a  discussion  of  his 
style  of  genius  and  works,  nor  into  any  description  of  his 
person  and  manners.  That  his  name  was  "  Signor  Valerio," 
and  that  he  was  the  favorite  student  of  old  Secchi  the 
copyist,  was  all  that  the  reluctant  Paul  seemed  willing  to 
communicate ;  and  this  to  one  from  whom  he  never  before 
had  a  secret ! 

Paul's  intimacy  with  the  Princess  (Signor  Valerio)  had 
taken  a  new  character  from  the  moment  of  his  confessing 
himself  an  artist.  Her  surprise  to  find  him  really  one, 


206  PAUL     FANS. 

was  the  most  agreeable  that  she  had  recognised,  in  the 
conversation  of  the  attache,  the  qualities  of  mind  which 
had  made  her  designate  him,  in  playful  compliment,  "  an 
artist ; "  and  his  constant  society,  as  such,  chanced  to  be 
just  the  companionship  of  which  she  most  felt  the  want. 
The  privacy  with  which  both  she  and  Paul  were  devoting 
life  to  the  pursuit  of  art,  while  apparently  interested  only 
in  the  gaieties  of  a  court,  made  a  common  bond  of  sym 
pathy  ;  and,  with  an  inquiry  into  his  working  habits,  it 
was  very  natural  that  she  should  propose  to  place  an  easel 
for  him  where  she  could  share  his  artistic  hours,  in  her 
own  well-lighted  and  luxurious  studio.  That  there  was 
any  reason  why  those  hours  of  inspired  industry — appa 
rently  thrown  away  on  his  countryman  Blivins,  as  far  as 
companionship  went — should  not  be  linked  with  her  own 
daily  life,  in  a  retreat  thus  hidden  from  the  world,  was  a 
doubt  not  likely  to  occur  to  the  Princess,  with  her  habitual 
defiance  of  appearances. 

The  complete  union  of  the  artist-life  of  the  two,  how 
ever,  had  been  but  gradually  brought  about.  It  was  not 
till  the  coming  on  of  the  summer  that  the  Palefords  had 
taken  their  departure  (the  invalid  mother  of  Sybil  ordered 
by  the  physician  to  the  Baths  of  Lucca) ;  and  this,  with  the 
return  of  Mr.  Ashly  to  England,  had  left  Paul,  for  the  first 
time,  at  full  leisure,  and  with  interest  and  thought  to  spare, 
for  the  cultivation  of  a  friendship.  With  time  and  sensi- 


PAULFANE.  207 

bilities  to  dispose  of,  the  studio  of  the  gifted  and  high-born 
woman  became  more  and  more  agreeable  as  a  resort,  and 
there  was  no  alarm  in  Paul's  mind  at  the  nature  of  the 
new  intimacy  thus  commencing.  Startling  as  it  might 
have  seemed,  if  its  fullest  mingling  of  thoughts  and  hours 
could  have  been  looked  forward  to,  the  successive  steps  to 
it  were  natural  and  rational.  The  repose  and  imperturbable- 
ness  of  the  Princess's  habitual  tone  and  presence  may  have 
contributed  to  this  ;  but  it  was,  probably,  more  the  elevated 
level  of  the  leading  topics  of  interest  between  them.  Is 
there  not  a  height  of  intellectual  sympathy  at  which  a 
friendship  between  those  of  opposite  sex  may  be  cultivated 
•without  danger  from  love  ?  Some  indirect  light  is  thrown, 
upon  Paul's  experience  in  the  matter,  by  the  following 
passage  from  one  of  his  letters  to  his  mother  : — 

*  *  *  The  path  of  Art  which,  in  glowing  and  sanguine 
moments,  I  mark  out  for  myself  as  peculiarly  my  own,  becomes 
very  indistinct  under  depression  and  discouragement.  It  is  not 
merely  that  I  cannot  handle  my  pencil,  when  out  of  spirits,  but 
the  handling  that  I  have  already  done,  with  a  feeling  of  success 
and  a  belief  in  its  originality,  loses  all  force  and  beauty  to  my  eye. 
If  I  were  working  entirely  by  myself,  I  should,  half  the  time,  nei 
ther  be  the  same  person,  nor  believe  Art  to  be  the  same  thing. 

The  fact  is,  dear  mother  (though  it  may  look  like  a  craving  for 
flattery),  we  need  some  one  to  talk  to  us  about  ourselves.  I,  at 
least,  need  to  be  followed  very  closely  by  some  loving  and  willing 


208  PAUL     FANE. 

appreciator,  who  believes  in  me  when  I  am  doubtful  about  myself, 
and,  by  praise  and  judicious  criticism,  re-identifies  and  restores  the 
ideal  I  have  lost.  The  love  that  would  praise  blindly  and  indis 
criminately  would  not  answer  for  this.  While  it  needs  the  deli 
cacy  and  watchful  devotion  of  a  woman,  it  needs,  also,  the  well- 
balanced  and  unimpulsive  judgment  of  a  man. 

"  Signer  Yalerio,"  in  whose  studio  I  oftenest  pass  my  day,  at 
present,  is  just  this  friend  to  me.  He  is  a  sculptor,  and  works  at 
his  clay  model,  while,  at  my  easel,  near  by,  I  paint  or  draw.  For 
any  good  touch  or  line  of  mine,  I  get  the  immediate  recognition 
which  inspires  me  to  surpass  it ;  for  any  doubtful  line,  I  get  the 
discussion  which  confirms  or  rejects ;  for  the  concentration  and 
patience  without  which  there  is  no  excellence  (yet  which  are  so 
fickle  and  evasive  as  moods  of  the  mind),  I  get  approval  for  what 
I  show,  and  encouragement  to  show  more.  My  genius  (if  I  may 
use  that  word,  for  lack  of  a  better)  does  not  depend  on  the 
deferred  or  unheard  approval  of  a  distant  public,  but  has  its 
reward  while  the  glow  of  performance  is  still  warm,  in  the  near 
and  present  congratulation  so  much  sweeter  than  tardy  fame. 

And  now,  are  you  prepared  for  a  surprise  ?  And  will  you 
believe  that  this  "  Signor  Valerio" — the  sculptor  in  artist  costume, 
and  with  the  confident  ease  as  well  as  the  slouched  hat  of  a  gentle 
man — is  a  woman  ?  With  your  ideas  of  such  matters,  my  dear 
mother,  this  will  seem,  first  incredible,  then  disreputable.  But  do 

not  condemn  too  hastily.  The  Princess  C (\vho  thus  disguises 

herself)  is  a  woman  with  genius  enough  to  be  entitled  to  an  eccen 
tricity.  I  will  give  you  her  history,  as  known  to  the  world,  in 
another  letter.  She  thus  varies  her  court  life,  because,  to  a  high 
rank  in  genius  she  was  as  much  born  as  to  that  of  a  princess,  and 
she  must  have  privilege  and  scope  as  an  artist.  I  formed  her 


PA  u  L    FANE.  209 

acquaintance  at  the  duke's  palace,  and  have  gradually  been  admit 
ted  to  this  intimacy  of  common  pursuits.  The  sculpture,  which  is 
her  utterance  of  inspiration,  is  a  sort  of  fraternity  of  Art  between 
us  which  makes  her  male  attire  seem  natural. 

Xow,  can  you  not  see,  dear  mother,  how  this  should  be,  to  me, 
even  more  absorbing  than  a  love  would  be — a  friendship  without 
passion,  and  better  than  a  passion  ?  Doubtless  there  is  danger  in 
such  an  intimacy ;  for  the  princess  is  very  lovely  as  a  woman,  and 
her  nature  is  glowing  and  fearless — but,  escaping  this,  how  precious 
is  the  gem  which  only  with  this  peril  is  perfected  !  I  really  do  not 
think  a  friend  complete  who  has  not  the  mental  qualities  of  the 
two  sexes ;  yet,  as  a  man  is  thought  less  than  man  who  is  feminine 
enough  for  this,  it  must  be  a  woman  who  is  more  than  woman  by 
being  masculine  enough.  And  the  poetry  of  sacredness  that  slum 
bers  in  the  background  of  such  a  friendship — with  a  tempting 
human  passion  within  reach,  for  which  the  else  completely  united 
hearts  are  too  strong  and  too  pure ! 

Yes,  mother !  this  slender  and  soft-eyed  youth,  who  looks  over 
my  shoulder  as  I  draw,  is  the  romance  of  my  present  life,  I  am 
free  to  own.  And  that  there  are  moments  when  the  danger  which 
belongs  to  the  romance  seems  critical,  I  own  as  freely.  Yet  pro 
fessional  habit,  and  her  own  unconsciousness,  make  me  forget,  for 
the  great  portion  of  the  time,  that  there  is  anything  to  be  guarded 
against ;  and  it  is  curious,  after  all,  how  much  there  is  conventional 
and  needless  in  our  notions  of  what  is  modest.  I  leave  ray  work 
to  look,  in  turn,  at  some  new  beauty  of  her  moulding ;  and, 
though  the  model  is  entirely  nude — (an  ideal  of  Hermione) — I 
Etand  before  it  with  "Signer  Valeric,"  and,  without  a  thought  of 
indelicacy,  criticise  and  admire  all  its  graces  and  proportions. 
She  has  strangely  given  to  this  Hermione,  indeed,  wholly  undraped 


210  PAUL     FANE. 

as  it  is,  a  look  of  high  birth  which  throws  a  protecting  atmosphere 
of  purity  around  it.  And  in  this  look  (which,  I  am  un-republican 
enough  to  confess,  is  a  very  great  fascination  of  her  own)  lies  part 
of  the  secret,  perhaps,  why  her  fearless  defiances  of  dress  and  con 
duct  seem  all  so  irreproachable.  *  *  * 


As  our  chapter  was  going  on  to  say  (before  this 
letter's  occurring  to  us  as  throwing  some  light  on  the 
character  of  Paul's  new  friendship),  there  was  a  sudden 
suspension  of  the  neglect  about  which  Blivins  had  grown 
disconsolate.  For  several  mornings  the  deserter  had  ap 
peared  and  gone  duly  to  work,  at  his  accustomed  easel. 
No  explanation,  to  be  sure,  of  why  he  had  wandered, 
nor  why  he  now  returned — but  there  he  was,  gentle 
and  playful  as  ever,  sketching  and  conversing  as  natu- 
rally  as  if  no  rival  intimate  and  artist  had  ever  made 
another  studio  more  agreeable.  Bosh  was  too  delicate 
as  well  as  too  happy  to  ask  questions.  He  behaved 
like  a  generous  woman  to  her  uncatechised  truant  of  a 
lover;  simply  striving  to  be  so  much  sweeter  than  ever 
that  the  forgiven  sinner  would  never  do  so  any  more. 

The  pacified  Bosh  would  not  have  liked  to  know, 
however,  why  that  same  Signor  Valerio  was  under  the 
necessity  of  dispensing  with  Paul's  society  for  a  while ! 

In  the  course  of  some  conversation  on  the  subject 
of  models,  the  princess  had  spoken  of  the  difficulty  she 


PAUL    FANE.  211 

found  in  the  coarseness  of  the  forms  of  the  Italian  lower 
classes  ;  and,  with  Paul's  incidental  mention  of  the  slighter 
and  more  graceful  American  type  of  female  beauty,  Miss 
Firkin's  defeated  ambition  (as  to  her  portrait  and  its 
justice  to  her  figure)  had  been  naturally  alluded  to. 
A  regret  expressed  by  the  princess  that  she  had  not 
been  the  artist — to  obviate  the  embarrassment  by  being 
of  the  same  sex  as  the  sitter — led  to  a  proposal  that 
her  highness  should  be  introduced  to  the  fair  Sophia 
as  simply  a  sculptress,  and  so  make  the  bust  which 
the  Ohio  beauty  was  ambitious  of  possessing ;  at  the 
same  time  obtaining  a  study  of  her  form  for  artistic 
uses.  There  was  a  novelty  of  adventure  in  the  matter 
which  at  once  took  the  princess's  fancy. 

Paul,  since  the  discomfiture  and  departure  of  the 
fortune-hunting  and  dinner-seeking  baronet,  had  become 
a  great  favorite  with  the  Firkins.  Yet  it  required  some 
little  diplomacy  to  arrange  the  sittings  for  the  bust — 
mamma's  prejudice  on  the  subject  to  be  encountered, 
point  blank,  and  Blivins  (the  now  accepted  lover)  to 
be  kept  altogether  in  the  dark ;  besides  which,  it  was 
necessary  to  soften  the  fact,  to  Mrs.  Firkin  at  least, 
that  the  sculptress,  for  incog,  reasons  of  her  own, 
as  well  as  for  convenience,  would  be  apparelled  as  a 
gentleman !  These  difficulties  surmounted,  however,  the 
first  interview  was  brought  about ;  and  Mrs.  Firkin 


212  PAUL     FANE. 

(greatly  astonished  at  what  she  saw,  but  still  satisfied 
that  "Signer  Valerio"  was  really  of  the  harmless  gender, 
and  no  mistake),  was  content  with  once  matronizing 
her  daughter  to  tKat  queer  place,  and  willing,  that,  for 
the  remaining  number  of  sittings,  she  should  go  alone. 
It  was  on  the  days  for  these  tete-a-tete  sittings  that  Paul 
was  of  course  excluded  from  the  princess's  studio,  and 
returned,  as  we  have  already  mentioned,  to  his  friend 
Blivins;  and  as  the  only  eye-witness  to  give  us  an  ac 
count  of  what  took  place  in  his  absence  is  the  fair 
sitter  herself,  we  will  borrow  what  she  is  willing  to 

O 

tell  of  it  from  one  of  her  confidential  letters.  She  thus 
wrote  to  her  friend  and  constant  correspondent,  Miss  Kitty 
Kumletts,  of  Rumpusville,  Alabama : 

FLORENCE, , . 

MY  DEAR  KITTY: 

Please  receive  me  in  ray  night-cap  and  slippers,  for  I  was  all 
undressed  to  go  to  bed,  when  I  found  I  must  first  go  to  Alabama — 
so  full  of  thoughts  of  you,  that  is  to  say,  that  there  would  be  no 
sleeping  till  I  had  written  you  a  letter.  It  is  not  late,  either.  You 
are  very  certain  to  be  wide  awake,  yourself.  Very  likely  enjoying 
your  second-hand  sunset — the  identical  sun  that  set,  for  us  here  in 
'Florence,  three  or  four  hours  ago !  Of  course  you  love  it  more 
because  it  has  lately  seen  me;  though,  when  Mr.  Fane  happened 
to  mention  Europe's  getting  the  first  call  from  the  sun  and  moon, 
Pa  was  quite  disgusted  with  the  whole  affair.  He  said  the  Declara 
tion  of  Independence  ought  to  have  arranged  that  our  glorious 


P  A  U  L      F  AN  E.  213 

Republic  should  have  the  "first  cut"  of  daylight  and  everything 
else. 

But,  talking  of  Mr.  Fane  and  me,  Kitty,  what  do  you  think  of 
this  charming  man's  having  managed  to  gratify  my  little  pet  wick 
edness  of  a  wish,  after  all?  I  may  as  well  own,  I  suppose,  that  this 
letter  is  for  nothing  but  to  tell  you  that  I  am  sitting  for  my  bust ! 
Pos-i-tive-ly !  And,  to  an  artist  in  trousers  that  button  in  front, 
and  reach  (I  tremble  to  write  it)  to  his  very  heels ! 

Have  you  got  your  breath,  my  dear,  so  that  I  can  proceed  to 
give  you  the  particulars  ? 

You  know  I  wrote  to  you  of  the  injustice  done  to  my  figure  by 
a  portrait  in  which  I  was  boxed  up  as  a  goddess  of  Liberty,  with 
nothing  visible  but  a  nose,  as  it  were.  My  sorrows  on  this  point 
touched  the  heart  of  Mr.  Fane.  He  has  an  artist's  eye,  and  had 
observed  my  "  proportions,"  (such  a  nice,  useful  word,  proportions !) 
and  not  wishing  me  to  be  the  "  full  many  a  flower  that's  born  to 
blush  imseen,"  ho  set  about  contriving  how  I  should  be  seen — in 
marble,  which  is  not  expected  to  blush,  you  know !  I  thought,  at 
the  first  mention  of  the  possibility  of  it,  that  mamma  would  scream 
so  that  you  could  hear  her  over  there. 

But  (not  to  keep  you  longer  in  suspense)  it  appeared  that  Mr. 
Fane  had  a  friend  whose  profession  was  sculpture,  and  who,  when 
at  work,  was  as  like  a  naughty  man  as  possible  ;  but  who  had  only 
to  undress  to  be  a  lady!  It  was  " Mr.  Valerio,"  and  in  masculine 
belongings ;  but  there  was  neither  whisker  nor  moustache,  and  the 
trousers  were  altogether  harmless.  So  Mr.  Fane  assured  us  on  his 
honor — though  mamma  had  seen  boys  with  smooth  faces,  and 
would  trust  no  apparent  young  man  to  be  left  alone  with  my  "pro 
portions,"  till  she  had  first  put  her  two  good  Ohio  eyes  upon  him. 

Well,  we  went,  first,  all  together.     We  were  shown  into  a  beau- 


214  PAUL     FANE. 

tiful  studio,  and  "  Signor  Valeric  "  came  in,  presently,  dressed  like 
an  artist  and  with  a  slouched  hat,  and  as  like  a  man — but  I  will 
not  aggravate  your  curiosity  by  saying  how  much.  Mamma  looked 
sharp,  I  assure  you !  She  watched  him  as  he  walked  round,  and 
saw  him  sit  down  and  get  up ;  and  heard  him  speak,  and  looked  at 
his  chin  and  under  his  hat — and,  finally,  she  was  content  to  go 
away,  with  Mr.  Fane,  and  leave  me  alone  with  "  Signor  Vsxlerio." 
What  she  saw  that  convinced  her,  I  have  no  idea,  for,  to  my  eyes, 
it  was  exactly  as  any  slender  young  man  would  begin  by  behaving 
and  looking ;  but  there  I  was — left  unchaperoned  with  that  suit  of 
clothes  and  its  contents — and  nothing  but  Mr.  Fane's  "solemn 
honor  "  to  satisfy  me  that  it  was  a  woman !  And — to  "  sit "  to  him, 
presently  !  Oh,  Kitty  !  oh ! 

Of  course  you  know  how  they  do  these  things.  A  clay  model, 
partly  shaped,  stood  on  the  stand,  and  "Signor  Valerio,"  after  a 
few  minutes'  chat,  took  the  wet  cloth  from  this  muddy  lump,  and 
very  coolly  commenced  working  on  the — on  the  "  proportions." 
This  was  as  much  as  to  say,  that,  as  it  was  to  be  a  likeness  of  me, 
the  lovely  original  was  expected  to  be  visible  at  the  same  place  ; 
and  here  commenced  my  crisis !  I  had  gone  there  in  a  loose 
wrapper,  on  purpose — but,  to  take  off  my  collar  and  let  down  my 
shoulder-straps,  etc.,  with  a  pair  of  pantaloons  walking  about  the 
room !  Impossible  !  And  then  a  man's  hat  with  a  pair  of  live 
eyes,  that  might  be  of  any  sex  whatever,  under  the  rim !  Wait  till 
you  have  shown  your  "proportions"  under  such  awful  circum 
stances,  my  dear ! 

No!  I  was  compelled  to  a  compromise.  I  tried — and  tried — 
but  no  !  I  couldn't !  It  was  not  the  trousers  altogether — but  that 
hat !  As  long  as  such  a  male  unmistakability  as  a  man's  hat  with 
eyes  under  it  was  looking  right  at  me,  I  could  never  take  off  my 


PATJLFANE.  215 

shoulder-straps — never!  never!  And,  finally,  I  asked  if  the  hat 
couldn't  be  put  out  of  the  room. 

But,  la  !  with  the  letting  down  of  the  "  Signer's  "  long  hair  (for 
he  politely  complied  with  my  request,  though  he  wears  the  hat  to 
shade  his  weak  eyes  from  the  light),  he  became  female  at  once ! 
With  those  black  tresses  down  his  back,  the  trousers  had  no  man 
ner  of  expression !  I  should  not  have  minded,  even  if  his  suspend 
ers  had  been  visible.  And,  do  you  know,  I  think  that  it  is  long 
hair  that  makes  the  difference,  after  all?  Why  the  men,  who 
adore  us  so,  don't  let  their  own  hair  grow,  and  thus  become  just  as 
adorable,  themselves,  I  cannot  conceive.  I  am  wondering  whether 
I  mightn't  do  several  convenient  things  with  my  curls  let  down — 
such  as  wearipg  trousers  for  a  walk  in  muddy  weather,  or  for  riding 
so  much  more  nicely  on  a  man's  saddle.  Think  that  over,  Kitty, 
and  perhaps,  when  I  come  home,  we  can  set  the  fashion ! 

Well,  it's  very  pleasant  to  have  one's  figure  admired,  even  by 
a  woman.  Once  sure  that  the  trousers  were  non  compos,  I  "  peeled  " 
(AS  brother  Thus  calls  it,  when  he  strips  for  a  fight),  and  let  myself 
be  studiously  perused  by  "  Signor  Valerio  "  for  a  couple  of  hours ; 
and  his  compliments  to  my  little  inequalities,  and  his  efforts  to 
make  a  likeness  of  what  he  found  perfect,  made  a  charming  morn 
ing  of  it.  I  have  been  twice  since,  and  even  the  clay  model  is  not 
yet  done.  This  is  to  be  cast  in  plaster,  you  know,  and  then  will 
come  the  finishing  in  marble — so  that  I  have  a  long  intimacy  with 
these  same  innocuous  masculinities  in  prospect. 

Now,  of  all  this,  my  over-particular  Blivins  knows  nothing.  He 
is  to  be  pacified,  when  the  bust  is  done,  either  by  having  it  under 
lock  and  key  to  himself  (to  begin  with — for,  of  course,  I  can  have 
my  own  way  about  it,  after  awhile),  or  by  having  "Hebe "or 
"  Venus "  engraved  upon  the  pedestal,  so  that  people  may  be  let 


21G  PAUL     FANE. 

into  his  family  secrets  -without  knowing  it.  As  to  Mr.  Fane's  hav 
ing  seen  it,  the  dear  honest  fellow  loves  him  so  much  that  he 
would  not  mind,  1  think,  even  if  it  had  been  the  original ! 

I  shall  write  to  you  of  my  remaining  experiences  in  "  sitting."  I 
have  a  deal  to  learn  myself,  for  I  have  not  yet  made  out  who  or 
what  this  "  Signer  Valerio  "  is,  or  how  she  and  Mr.  Fane  happen  to 
be  so  very  well  acquainted.  She  seems  pretty — but  there's  no 
knowing  what  a  woman  is  like  till  you  see  her  in  petticoats.  For 
these,  and  some  other  delightful  matters,  however,  look  to  my 
future  letters.  To  bed,  now,  dear  Kitty,  goes  your 
Ever  affectionate 

THIA  FIRKIN. 

And,  with  one  of  our  hero's  side-secrets  thus  confiden 
tially  explained,  we  shall  resume  his  more  direct  personal 
experiences  in  another  chapter. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

OF  another  new  thread  that  had  been  strangely  braided 
into  Paul's  web  of  tangled  life,  during  this  month  of 
October,  we  must  unravel  the  windings  a  little. 

With  the  almost  immediate  departure  of  the  Palefords, 
for  the  Baths  of  Lucca,  after  the  birthday  breakfast,  the 
mystery  of  the  portrait  had  been  left  unsolved.  It  was  not 
that  Paul  meant  to  maintain  his  incognito  beyond  the  first 
surprise  *,  but  the  apt  occasion  for  confessing  himself  the 
painter  had  not  come,  amid  the  hurry  and  embarrassments 
of  leave-taking;  and  as,  among  the  friendly  commissions 
given  him  to  do  in  their  absence,  one  was,  to  look  around 
upon  the  walls  of  the  various  studios  and  find  other  works 
by  which  to  identify  this  unknown  pencil,  a  continuance  of 
the  mystification,  built  upon  his  imaginary  adventures  in 
search  of  it,  became  an  amusing  spice  for  his  correspond 
ence. 

In  reply  to  one  of  Paul's  letters,  in  which  he  had  hinted 
at  coming  upon  some  traces  of  the  unknown,  Colonel  Pale- 

10  ™ 


218  PAUL     FANE. 

ford  had  somewhat  enlarged  his  commission.  Mr.  Ashly 
had  written  to  inform  his  friends  that  a  maiden  aunt,  with 
whom  they  were  well  acquainted,  was  on  her  way  to 
Florence ;  and,  supposing,  that,  of  course,  by  this  time,  the 
painter  of  the  admired  sketch  of  Miss  Sybil  had  been  dis 
covered,  he  wished  a  portrait  of  this  beloved  relative  by 
the  same  hand.  The  Colonel's  letter  enclosed  a  note  of 
introduction  for  the  artist  (the  name  left  in  blank)  to  Miss 
"Winifred  Ashly ;  and  the  new  request  to  Paul  was,  that  he 
would  take  some  additional  pains  to  find  the  said  artist, 
deliver  to  him  the  instructions  with  the  note,  and  inform 
him  that  the  lady-subject  for  his  pencil  was  already  arrived 
and  at  the  Hotel  Europa. 

Paul's  first  impulse  was  to  confess  to  the  authorship  of 
the  sketch  of  Sybil,  and  put  an  end  to  the  mystification  at 
once,  by  the  return  of  Mr.  Ashly's  introductory  note.  But, 
with  a  second  thought  arose  a  question  :  Why  not  present 
the  letter  himself,  and  paint  the  picture  ?  The  opportunity 
to  make  some  beginning  of  a  reparation  to  one  whom  he 
felt  he  had  greatly  wronged — to  complete  and  present  to 
him  (if  only  as  a  grateful  acknowledgment  for  his  appre 
ciative  praise)  a  portrait  that  would  give  him  pleasure — 
was  a  motive  that,  even  by  itself,  seemed  quite  sufficient. 
The  ambition  for  a  second  approval,  by  the  same  discrimi 
nating  judgment  from  which,  in  fact,  he  had  won  his  first 
honors  as  an  artist,  of  course,  had  its  weight. 


PAUL     FANE.  210 

But  he  found,  too,  that  his  long-hidden  disquietude  was 
still  at  work.  The  lady  to  sit  for  the  picture  was  an 
ASHLY — of  the  blood  in  which  seemed  to  reside  the  recog 
nition  of  quality,  to  which  irresistible  instinct  made  him 
subject — and  the  curiosity  awoke  to  present  himself  anew 
to  this  strange  touchstone  ;  or  if  it  should  not  be  found  to 
reside  in  her  look,  also,  to  familiarize  himself,  at  least,  with 
the  family  features  and  character,  and  so  strengthen  his 
power  of  analyzing  what  had  been  to  him,  and  might  still 
be,  such  a  phantom  of  humiliation.  With  the  certainty 
that  the  Palefords  would  still  be  absent  for  a  month,  and 
the  field  thus  entirely  to  himself,  the  project  to  take  advan 
tage  of  this  strangely  presented  opportunity  seemed  as 
feasible  as  it  was  irresistibly  tempting. 

The  filling  up  of  the  blank  in  the  note  of  introduction, 
the  morning  after  the  travesty  was  resolved  upon,  cost 
Paul  a  puzzled  twirl  or  two  of  his  finger.  It  was,  at  last, 
fairly  written,  however — Evenden — the  association  with  his 
simplest  and  most  honest  of  friends  seeming  to  serve  as  the 
apology  demanded  by  his  conscience  for  the  assumption  of 
a  fictitious  name.  And  with  a  courage  that,  for  several 
reasons,  required  the  bracing  of  a  strong  will,  "  Mr.  Even- 
den,"  at  an  early  calling  hour,  sent  up  his  card  and  note 
of  introduction  to  Miss  Ashly. 

The  lady  whom  Paul  was  presently  to  see  (we  will  make 
use  of  his  momentary  delay  in  the  ante-room  to  inform  the 


220  PAUL     FANE. 

reader)  was  the  maiden  aunt  of  the  two  of  the  name  who 
have  already  taken  part  in  our  story — the  only  sister  of 
Mr.  Ashly,  their  father.  She  was,  however,  from  the  inci 
dental  possession,  in  her  own  right,  of  a  great  portion  of 
what  was  nominally  the  estate,  and  the  power  of  disposing 
of  it  at  her  pleasure,  a  much  more  important  personage  in 
the  family  than  an  elderly  single  lady  is  usually  likely  to 
be.  Her  qualities  of  character,  too,  were  quite  in  keeping 
with  her  adventitious  consequence ;  and,  though  endearing 
and  affectionate  in  her  more  familiar  intercourse  with  her 
relatives,  she  was  generally  thought  by  their  acquaintances 
to  be  of  disposition  and  manners  unapproachably  cold  and 
imperious.  Her  habits  were  very  independent,  and  some 
times  looked  capricious  and  unsocial — her  present  journey, 
unattended,  to  Italy,  for  instance,  when  any  one  of  the 
circle  at  home  would  gladly  have  accompanied  her.  Her 
apparent  mental  necessity  for  isolation — showing  itself  not 
only  by  refusal  of  the  thrall  of  matrimony,  but  by  avoid 
ance  even  of  the  briefer  restraints  of  habitual  companion 
ship  or  intimacy — had,  of  course,  its  human  penalty  of 
loneliness ;  and  from  this  she  found  refuge  in  music.  It  was 
the  one  passion  that  took  the  overflow  of  what  would  not 
be  locked  up  in  her  soul. 

With  the  announcement  that  Miss  Ashly  would  receive 
him,  Paul  followed  the  servant,  and  was  ushered  into  the 
presence  of  a  tall  lady  in  mourning — the  li^ht  of  the  room 


PAUL     FANE.  221 

so  subdued,  however,  that  he  could  distinguish  only  the 
general  outline  of  her  features.  Unable  to  decide,  at  first, 
therefore,  whether  he  was  sitting  for  his  own  picture  as 
well  as  she  for  hers — whether  or  no  it  was  the  dreaded 
look  of  an  Ashly  that  was  now  bent  upon  him — his  antici 
pations  of  embarrassment  naturally  gave  place  to  his  habit 
ual  ease  of  manner.  Her  voice  made  him  formal,  however. 
It  had  the  tardy  and  unemphasized  utterance  of  thoughts 
followed  reluctantly,  never  anticipated,  and  not  always 
overtaken.  Even  in  the  phrasing  of  the  ceremonious 
common-places  of  reception,  there  was  this  same  evidence 
of  an  inner  world  more  lived  in — the  manner  for  the  outer 
world  (of  intercourse  with  others)  having  the  cold  air  ot 
the  room  uninhabited  or  re-entered  but  to  receive  strangers. 

"And  when  and  where  am  I  to  sit  to  you,  Mr.  Evenden  ?" 
she  asked,  after  expressing  very  decidedly  the  unwillingness 
of  her  compliance  with  her  nephew's  request. 

"Now  and  here,"  said  Paul,  who  had  anticipated  her 
probable  wishes  for  promptness  in  the  matter;  "a  servant 
is  below  with  my  drawing-board  and  easel,  and  if  you  will 
allow  me  to  ring  your  bell  and  order  them  up,  we  can 
commence  at  once.  As  it  is  to  be  but  a  crayon  sketch,  I 
thought  I  would  not  put  you  to  the  inconvenience  of  com 
ing  to  my  out-of-the-wray  studio." 

"Thanks,  my  blear  sir!"  she  replied,  with  an  accent  ot 
polite  surprise,  as  she  rang  the  bell  on  the  way  to  her 


222  PAUL     FANE. 

dressing-room ;  "  your  directness  pleases  me  as  much  as 
your  charming  thoughtfulness  of  my  comfort.  Both  pro 
mise  well  for  your  picture.  I  must  leave  you  a  moment, 
for  a  little  change  in  my  toilette,  and,  meantime,  perhaps, 
you  will  make  your  arrangements  as  to  light,  etc.  I  will 
be  with  you  presently." 

But  with  the  re-appearance  of  that  tall  figure,  in  the  full 
light  with  which  the  un-shuttered  windows  had  flooded  the 
room  in  her  absence,  Paul  did  not  resume  his  previous 
readiness  for  his  task.  By  his  first  clear  look  at  her  now 
undisguised  features,  the  lamp  of  genius  within  Jiim  seemed 
suddenly  extinguished  !  Yet  she  had  even  more  beauty 
than  he  had  supposed.  Though  past  the  prime  of  life,  her 
un-emotional  current  of  reserve  and  coldness  had  worn  no 
channels  on  her  face.  It  had  the  shape  and  complexion  of 
comparative  youthfulness.  But  the  Ashly  eye  was  there, 
with  its  indescribable  superiority,  cold,  fastidious,  disdain 
ful  ;  and,  under  its  steady  look,  Paul  felt  his  powers  as  an 
artist — the  evasive  ideality  of  conception  and  the  subtle 
dexterity  of  hand — palsied  as  by  a  spell. 

An  hour  passed — and  another — and  they  were  hours  of 
failure  and  vain  effort,  as  to  his  work.  But  they  were  not 
without  their  interest.  She  sat  before  him,  and  he  had  an 
artist's  privilege  to  gaze  upon  her  face  and  analyze  it.  It 
seemed  to  him  as  if  it  were  the  ver^Jkce  from  which  he 
had  received  the  look  that  turned  the  whole  current  of  his 


PAULFANE.  223 

life,  so  strong  was  the  likeness.  It  was  curious  to  study  it 
now.  He  sketched  and  erased,  making  little  or  no  pro 
gress,  even  in  completing  the  outline ;  and  pausing  as  long 
between  the  touches  of  his  pencil  as  was  possible  without 
exciting  her  attention.  To  her  inquiries  from  time  to  time 
as  to  his  success,  he  pleaded  artistic  difficulties,  changes  of 
design  in  the  pose,  or  of  conception  in  the  expression  and 
character.  But,  though  discouraged  as  to  favorably  por 
traying  the  face,  and  despairing,  indeed,  of  ever  completing 
a  picture  of  it,  he  did  not  the  less  gloat  over  his  unlimited 
privilege  of  studying  it.  He  rejoiced,  also,  in  his  artist 
liberty  of  silence — for,  in  the  chance  which  it  afforded  for 
the  yielding  of  precedence  in  the  selection  of  topics  and 
expression  of  opinion,  it  aided  that  deference  which  is  the 
first  charm  of  conversation,  and  so  made  it  likelier  that  he 
should  be  himself  agreeable  to  Miss  Ashly,  and  without 
the  appearance  of  effort. 

The  sitting  was  concluded  with  an  engagement  for  the 
same  hour  on  the  following  day ;  and  the  history  of  that, 
as  of  the  day  following,  was  very  much  the  same.  Paul 
had  none  but  mechanical  powers  to  bring  to  his  work — no 
inspiration  and  no  caprices  of  thought  or  handling — but 
he  had  the  dogged  industry  of  an  iron  will,  and  as  much 
skill  of  pencil  as  had  become  habitual ;  and,  with  these, 
there  was  necessarily  a  progress  in  the  portrait.  It 
approached  a  likeness ;  and  Miss  Ashly  was  apparently  as 


224  PAUL     FANE. 

content  with  it  as  she  had  expected  to  be,  praising  it  more 
than  Paul  knew  it  deserved — but  another  solution  of  his 
secret  and  visionary  problem  was  meantime  working  out ; 
and  while  he  meant  that  this  should  be  watched  to  its 
extremest  development,  the  intention  to  finally  abandon 
his  picture,  as  a  task  he  could  not  complete  to  his  liking, 
grew  stronger  and  stronger. 

With  the  close  of  the  third  day's  sitting,  Paul  turned 
from  the  steps  of  the  hotel,  for  a  solitary  stroll  in  the 
Ducal  Gardens.  He  had  a  thought  of  discontent  with 
which  he  wished  to  be  alone.  The  three  long  and  favor 
able  opportunities  of  which  he  had  now  fully  availed  him 
self — the  interviews  with  Miss  Ashly  under  circumstances 
best  calculated  to  test  fully  the  question  at  his  heart — had 
confirmed  his  humiliation  once  more.  As  an  artist,  known 
to  her  only  by  his  manners  and  his  introduction,  he  had  stood 
again  before  the  tribunal  of  that  cold  grey  eye;  and,  this 
time  with  complete  impartiality  of  position.  If  odds  there 
were,  in  the  scale,  they  were  in  his  favor.  Yet,  up  to  the 
closing  of  the  door,  on  that  day's  long  interview,  he  had 
never,  for  one  minute,  been  acknowledged  as  an  equal. 
There  was  kindness,  but  it  was  condescension — courtesy 
and  even  sociability,  but  with  a  graciousness  stamping  it 
unmistakably  as  favor  to  an  inferior.  With  the  best  court 
liness  he  could  command,  in  his  own  manners,  his  best  tact 
of  address,  and  a  watchfulness  too  nervously  awake  to  be 


PAULFANE.  22 

mistaken  as  to  the  effect,  lie  had  tried  his  magnetism  oH 
presence.  There  was  nothing  to  prevent  its  being  felt  and 
acknowledged,  as  the  presence  of  a  gentleman  in  her  own 
rank  in  life.  And  it  had  not  been  so  acknoivledged  ! 

The  morning  of  the  fourth  sitting  found  Paul  on  his  way 
to  the  Hotel  Europa — but  with  no  intention  of  resuming 
his  work.  His  errand,  now,  was  merely  to  gather  up  his 
materials  and  take  a  polite  leave  of  Miss  Ashly,  with,  per 
haps,  a  passing  explanation,  if  necessary,  as  to  the  artistio 
difficulties  he  had  found,  in  obtaining  a  likeness,  and  conse 
quent  discouragement  and  abandonment  of  it.  A  long 
night  of  struggle  had  been  enough.  His  mortification  was 
already  given  over  to  the  past ;  for,  with  the  intensity  of 
concentration  which  was  his  leading  quality  of  mind, 
trouble  was  speedily  plummeted,  and,  as  he  crossed  the 
bridge  of  the  Arno,  he  was  thinking  less  of  the  spoiled 
picture  and  his  bitter  lesson,  than  of  work  in  which  he 
could  complete  his  forgetfuiness  of  it,  and  which  he  should 
hurry  back  to  resume  at  his  own  easel. 

Arriving  at  the  hotel,  and  impatient  of  delay,  he  did  not 
send  up  his  name ;  but,  presuming  that  he  was  expected, 
according  to  engagement,  he  passed  on,  at  once,  to  the 
drawing-room  ;  and  a  servant  chancing  to  be  coming  out 
at  the  moment,  the  door  was  thrown  open,  and  he  entered, 
unannounced.  An  apology  for  intrusion  was  just  coming 
to  his  lips  (for  Miss  Ashly  was  at  the  piano,  and  the  low 
10* 


226  PAUL     FANE. 

soft  air  which  she  was  playing  seemed  to  be  so  interrupted  by 
the  noise  of  the  door  closing  behind  him  that  he  expected  her 
momently  to  turn),  when  his  movement  was  arrested  by  the 
sweetness  of  the  melody.  He  stood  for  an  instant — obser 
ving,  at  the  same  time,  that  the  player  was  wholly  uncon 
scious  of  his  entrance — but,  as  he  listened  to  the  music, 
willing  to  prolong  his  knowledge  of  what  seemed  to  him 
unusual  skill  upon  the  instrument,  another  call  was  sud 
denly  made  upon  his  attention. 

Miss  Ashly's  back  was  turned  to  him  ;  but,  by  a 
slow  lifting  of  her  head,  with  a  passionate  swell  of 
the  music,  the  descending  light  of  the  half-shuttered 
window  fell  full  upon  her  features,  making  them,  for 
the  first  time,  distinctly  visible  in  the  mirror  beyond. 
Paul  glanced  incidentally  at  the  upturned  face — but  his 
gaze  suddenly  became  fixed  !  Was  this  the  same  face 
with  which  he  had  become  familiar  ?  Did  that  mirror 
reflect  truly  the  face  upon  which  he  had  spent  weary 
days  of  study,  and,  with  the  deeper  look  into  which 
(as  he  believed)  he  had  but  found  confirmation  of  his 
dislike  ?  The  same  lines  of  feature  were  there — the 
same  color  and  setting  of  the  large  grey  eyes — but,  how 
wonderful  the  chano-e  !  If  it  were  an  outer  mask  that 

i^ 

had  become  miraculously  transparent,  revealing  another 
and  a  strangely  unimagined  face  beneath  it,  the  surprise 
could  scarcely  have  been  greater.  Miss  Ashly's  features — 


PAUL     FANE.  227 

,  hitherto  so  cold  and  so  forbidding — yet,  now,  with  an 
expression  almost  to  fall  down  before  and  worship ! 

Paul  took  a  step  forward.  Rapt  in  her  reverie  of 
music  (and  it  seemed  like  an  improvisation  of  thoughts 
dropping  upon  the  keys) — the  player  was  unaware  of 
his  approach.  He  listened  to  what  seemed  a  complete, 
yet  unconscious  abandonment  to  utterance  of  feeling — 
an  alternation  between  mournfulness  and  tenderness — 
but,  to  his  wondering  eye,  the  feeling  was  even  more 
passionately  expressed  in  the  countenance  on  which  he 
was  gazing.  Over  the  calm  coldness  of  that  dreaded 
eye  was  now  spread  the  warm  softness  of  a  tear  un- 
forbidden.  The  still  lips  had  an  arch  of  intense  sensi 
bility  and  pathos,  which  seemed  to  him  unutterably 
beautiful — the  beauty  of  what  was  immortal  shining 
through.  Even  the  marble-like  rigidity  of  the  finely 
chiselled  nostrils  had  given  place  to  a  tremulous  ex 
pansion,  like  the  first  quickening  of  inspiration  to  elo 
quence. 

Paul  thought  no  more  of  abandoning  his  picture.  To 
linger  near,  and  study,  and  portray  that  face,  and  to 
know  more  of  that  reserved  and  cold  woman's  unsus 
pected  depths  of  character,  was  his  newly  awaked  and 
passionate  desire.  lie  saw,  with  prophetic  conscious 
ness  of  power,  the  portrait  he  could  make — a  portrait 
of  inner  and  more  true  resomblance — and  through  which 


228  PAUL     FANE. 

he  felt  that  he  could  breathe  the  whole  fire  of  his  genius. 
He  only  longed  to  paint  her  as  she  sat,  at  this  moment, 
forgetfully  before  him  !  But  he  should  remember  that 
look,  and  reproduce  some  faint  shadowing  of  its  angel 
sweetness,  at  least,  in  copying  from  her  usual  features 
with  his  fresh  eyes.  His  heart  beat  quick,  and  his  fingers 
felt  dextrous  and  ready. 

"  Will  Miss  Ashly  pardon  me  ?"  he  said,  interrupting 
her  as  she  came  to  a  hesitating  cadence  in  her  playing. 

And,  in  another  instant,  the  lady  was  on  her  feet, 
and  his  sitter  of  yesterday,  stately  and  ceremonious 
through  all  the  embarrassment  of  her  surprise,  stepped 
forward  to  receive  him.  But  Paul  mentally  closed  his 
eyes  to  the  Miss  Ashly  now  preparing  for  her  morning's 
unwilling  occupation ;  and  saying  little  as  she  took  her 
accustomed  place,  hurried  only  to  prepare  his  pencils, 
erase  what  he  had  previously  drawn,  and  begin  anew. 

And  of  this  newly  inspired  sitting,  and  its  results,  we 
can  scarce  tell  all,  without  deferring  the  history  to  the 
chapter  which  is  to  follow. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

PAUL'S  labor  upon  the  portrait  he  had  been  ready  to 
abandon,  was  by  no  means  lost.  His  obstinate  industry 
for  three  days  had  supplied  the  correctness  and  relative- 
ness  of  proportion  without  which  the  most  inspired  picture 
would  be  incomplete.  He  did  not  propose  to  change  the 
position  of  the  figure  or  the  aspect  of  the  head  and  fea 
mres.  The  upturned  face,  which  he  had  seen  in  the  mirror, 
though  it  might  have  formed  a  beautiful  conception  for  a 
St.  Cecilia,  would  have  seemed  affected,  to  English  eyes, 
as  a  literal  portrait.  But,  at  the  same  time  that  the  out 
line,  and  the  posture,  and  the  features,  were  to  be  the 
same,  it  was  a  wholly  different  chronicle  of  a  life  which 
was  now  to  be  embodied  in  the  expression — a  wholly  dif 
ferent  character,  of  which  the  self-same  lineaments  were  to 
be  the  presence  and  language. 

And  Paul's  haunting  phantom  was  forgotten  as  he  pur 
sued  his  task  on  this  fourth  morning.  Yet  he  might  well 
have  remembered  it,  but  for  his  knowledge  of  a  look 

229 


230  PAUL     FANE. 

deeper  than  the  exterior  features  from  which  he  drew. 
Miss  Ashly  had  been  interrupted  at  her  impassioned  music 
— called  away  from  the  happiness  of  a  pleasanter  world — 
\for  the  business  of  this  reluctant  hour ;  and  the  cold  grey 
eye,  if  he  had  stopped  at  its  forbidding  and  outer  threshold 
o/  expression,  would  have,  more  than  before,  seemed  to 
shrink  from  his  companionship.  But,  in  the  far-reaching 
enthusiasm  with  which  he  struggled  to  bring  to  light  the 
once-seen  beauty  beyond,  he  forgot  the  pride  that  was 
nearer ;  and  what  that  deeper  nature's  estimate  of  his  own 
quality  of  clay  might  be,  was  a  question  left  unasked,  and 
unthought  of,  by  his  present  glowing  imagination. 

But,  of  some  difference  in  the  manners,  or  at  least,  in 
the  presence  or  magnetism  of  the  artist  himself,  Miss 
Ashly,  in  her  turn,  began  slowly  to  be  aware.  His  gaze 
had  no  longer  the  scrutiny  from  which  she  shrank — his 
eye,  somehow,  was  within  the  door  which  she  had  hitherto 
locked  against  its  intrusion.  The  feeling  of  resistance  to 
his  long-continued  and  steadily-bent  looks  upon  her  fea 
tures — a  feeling  of  which  she  had  been  so  unpleasantly 
conscious,  that  the  repeated  sittings  for  her  portrait  seemed 
greater  and  greater  penances,  which  only  her  love  for  her 
nephew  could  make  endurable — was  entirely  removed.  It 
affected  even  her  posture,  as  the  hour  we'nt  on.  She 
turned  more  unconstrainedly  to  the  light,  and  her  features 
relaxed,  at  the  same  time,  into  the  repose  of  complete  self- 


PAUL     FANE.  231 

forgetfulness.  With  the  first  absolutely  willing  smile 
which  he  had  seen  upon  her  face  since  the  sittings  began, 
she  spoke,  as  the  clock  on  the  mantelpiece  struck  for 
noon. 

"  Wooing  a  likeness,  I  suppose,  Mr.  Evenden,"  she  said, 
"  is  like  other  wooing ;  the  willingness  grows  upon  one. 
You  may  continue  your  work,  if  you  find  yourself  in  the 
vein.  I  am  not  tired." 

"Thanks  to  loth  the  Misses  Ashly,"  replied  Paul,  bowing 
ceremoniously  as  if  to  two  persons ;  "  though  it  is  not 
often  that  the  slighted  lady  gives  way  with  so  good  a  grace 
to  her  rival !" 

His  sitter  seemed  mystified,  but  waited  silently,  with  a 
very  confiding  look  of  inquiry,  for  an  explanation." 

"  I  fear  I  shall  scarce  make  you  understand,"  continued 
Paul,  uthat  I  was  mistakenly  employed  for  three  days 
upon  the  portrait  of  another  Miss  Ashly — one,  at  least,  with 
a  very  different  face,  from  this  now  upon  my  easel.  It  was 
only  to-day  that  I  ohanced  to  see,  for  the  first  time,  the 
countenance  of  her  on  whose  portrait  I  am  so  much  more 
likely  to  be  successful.  And,  to  my  great  satisfaction,  I 
find,  by  the  just-expressed  willingness  to  prolong  the 
sitting,  that  the  more  coy  lady  is  content  to  have  been 
discovered,  and  better  pleased  than  the  other  to  be  the 
subject  of  a  picture?' 

"  And  the  plain  prose  of  which  is,  I  suppose,  that  you 


232  P  A  U  L       F  A  N  E  . 

have  seen,  to-day,  an  expression  you  had  not  seen  before. 
I  fear"  (she  continued,  evidently  feeling  a  little  uneasy  as 
she  thought  about  it)  "that  the  compliment  of  your 
thinking  better  of  me  upon  acquaintance  is  outweighed  by 
the  inference  as  to  my  general  look  and  manners." 

Paul  balanced,  in  his  mind,  for  a  moment,  whether  he 
was  well  acquainted  enough,  yet,  with  the  lady,  to  make 
a  frank  avowal  of  his  first  impression — tempting  as  was 
the  opportunity  it  might  give  for  a  question  as  to  the  Ashly 
look.  But  he  deferred  it. 

"Why,  I  suppose,"  he  said,  evading  the  personality  by  a 
general  remark,  "  that,  to  every  character  of  any  depth  or 
variety,  there  is  an  inner  as  well  as  an  outer  nature — the 
character  being  none  the  less  estimable  because  these  are 
apparently  very  different.  Probably  it  is  an  accident  of 
education  or  circumstances,  which  of  the  two  puts  its 
stamp  upon  the  features  and  manners." 

"  But  still,"  she  said,  "  there  would  surely  be  more 
dignity  in  an  exterior  that  was  a  frank  and  full  expression 
of  the  whole  character." 

"  That  would  be  true,"  said  Paul,  continuing  to  apolo 
gize  to  her  for  herself,  "  if  the  bad  world  we  live  in  gave  a 
frank  and  full  response  to  this  whole  expression.  But,  of 
our  gold,  silver,  and  copper,  the  baser  coin  is  sometimes 
the  most  current  and  acceptable ;  and,  with  finding  that 
our  more  precious  qualities  are  only  wasted  or  undervalued, 


PAUL     FANE.  233 

we  soon  begin  to  hoard  them  away  and  show  no  sign  of 
possessing  them." 

"  Yet  it  seems  a  pity,"  she  suggested,  "  that,  in  conse 
quence  of  such  concealment,  two  who  are  really  congenial 
should  meet  without  mutual  recognition,  or,  even  that  a 
single  person  should  go  unappreciated  through  life,  simply 
because  the  manners  give  no  clue  to  the  character." 

^'  Why,  chance  (as  we  have  found  to-day)  may  reveal 
the  secret,"  he  argued,  "  even  if  to  the  quicker  sense  that 
could  best  appreciate  it,  there  be  no  betrayal  of  the  hidden 
nature,  by  sympathy  or  physiognomy.  And  what  a  luxury, 
after  all,  to  have  an  inner  character,  for  those  who  are  inti 
mate  with  us,  of  which  the  world  knows  nothing !  How 
delightful  to  have  even  different  looks  and  manners  for  the 
few  by  whom  we  are  understood  or  the  one  to  whom  the 
heart  is  given !" 

"And,  when  portrayed,  it  should  certainly  be  by  one 
who  can  get  at  that  same  inner  likeness,"  she  added, 
smiling  on  Paul  very  genially,  "  though,  by  the  way,  as  I 
have  not  seen  your  work  of  this  morning,  I  do  not  know 
whether  rny  own  inner  countenance,  as  you  are  pleased  to 
consider  it,  is  preferable  to  the  outer  and  usual  one.  We 
might  easily  differ,  in  our  opinion  of  it,  though  I  suppose 
you  will  scarce  allow  my  judgment,  even  of  my  own  face, 
'to  be  more  correct  than  yours,  who  have  studied  it  so 
much." 


234  PAUL     FANE. 

" No"  said  Paul,  " for,  curiously  enough,  we  are  better 
judges  of  any  face  than  of  our  own.  There  are  few  things 
people  are  more  mistaken  about  than  the  impression  their 
faces  make  oif  others.  Of  the  fidelity  of  the  likeness  you 
would  be  better  able  to  decide,  however ;  for  there  is  a 
certain  feel,  independent  of  the  eye,  which  infallibly  recog 
nises  resemblance.  When  you  look  on  your  own  portrait, 
you  know  whether  you  were  ever  conscious  of  what  is 
there  portrayed.  But  this  does  not  decide  the  choice 
between  the  becomingness  of  different  expressions  which 
are  equally  true,  nor  between  the  comparative  desirable 
ness  of  the  inner  and  outer  countenances  of  which  we  were 
speaking.  And  it  is  this  defective  memory  of  our  own 
looks  (a  man  '  straightway  forgetting  what  manner  of  man 
he  is,'  as  the  Bible  says)  which  makes  it  so  dependent  on 
chance  circumstances,  as  I  said  before,  whether  or  not  the 
story  of  an  inner  and  better  self  is  told  in  the  features. 

We  are  unaware  of  the  gradual  formation  of  our  habitual 

« 

expression  of  face  (none  except  very  artful  persons  ever 
making  it  a  study  or  materially  controlling  it,  I  fancy),  and 
so,  though  involuntary,  it  is  rather  a  chronicle  of  what 
influences  we  have  been  subjected  to  than  of  our  true 
character.  But,"  added  Paul,  rising  from  his  work  and 
setting  back  his  easel,  "  it  is  time  to  come  to  the  'improve 
ment'  of  my  long  sermon.  Let  me  introduce  you  to  your-' 
self!  This  unfinished  sketch  (and  I  shall  require  a  sitting 


PAUL     FANE.  235 

or  two  more  to  complete  it,  I  believe)  will  represent  you — 
if  not  truly — at  least  as  reflected  in  the  mirror  of  my 
present  eyes!" 

Miss  Ashly  looked  silently  on  the  sketch,  while  Paul 
busied  himself  with  laying  away  his  materials  for  the  day. 
It  was  by  no  means  a  literal  likeness  of  the  lady  who  now 
stood  before  it.  Its  wide  departure  from  this  common  aim 
of  a  portrait,  impressed  her,  at  first  view,  unfavorably. 
But  while  she  saw  that  it  differed  from  her  face  as  she 
"knew  it  in  the  glass,  there  was  still  the  likeness  of  which 
he  had  discoursed  to  her  so  artistically — the  likeness  of 
what  she  felt  to  be  herself — and  this  grew  upon  her  as  she 
gazed.  And  it  grew  more  and  more  wonderful  to  her  how 
he  should  have  seen  what  was  there  portrayed.  While 
there  was  much  that  she  would  not  have  openly  claimed, 
in  that  expression— so  high  its  order  of  beauty — she  could 
not  but  silently  acknowledge  it  to  be  herself.  It  was  the 
face  of  an  imaginative,  sensitive,  pure,  and  proud  woman — 
the  pride  so  spiritualized  and  ennobled  that  it  seemed  like 
a  grace — and  she  could  not  but  see,  also,  that,  with  all  its 
resemblance  to  what  she  felt  true,  as  to  ripeness  of  mind 
and  maturity,  it  was  still  glowing  as  •with  a  youthfulness  of 
nature  undiminished. 

"  I  shall  leave  you  alone  with  your  other  self,"  said 
Paul,  approaching  to  take  his  leave ;  "  for  I  prefer  not  to 
hear  your  criticism  on  my  sketch  till  you  have  compared 


236  PAUL    FANE. 

it  with  the  original — an  original  which  it  will  require  soli 
tude  to  see  truly.  To-morrow,  at  the  same  hour,  then, 
shall  I  have  the  pleasure  of  finding  you  ?" 

She  held  out  her  hand  to  him  with  a  smile  instead  of  .1 
reply,  and,  in  the  cordial  pressure  which  he  received  from 
those  delicate  fingers,  he  found  approval  enough  for  his 
picture,  without  words.  And  with  the  glow  of  successful 
genius — of  hard-won  triumph  over  obstacles  and  embar 
rassments — Paul  made  his  way,  for  the  first  time,  content, 
from  that  place  of  trial,  homewards,  across  the  Arno. 

4 

It  was  in  a  long  and  earnest  conversation,  preparatory  to 
the  next  sitting,  that  the  incident  of  the  mirror  was  told — 
explaining  to  Miss  Ashly  the  mystery  of  Paul's  sudden 
change  of  conception  as  to  her  character  arid  expression  of 
face  ;  and,  with  some  little  entreaty  on  his  part,  music  was 
now  mingled  in  their  morning's  interview,  as  a  renewal  of 
his  inspiration.  It  was  indeed  a  renewal  of  it !  lu  her 
secret  devotion  for  years  to  the  instrument  now  trembling 
beneath  her  touch,  she  had  acquired  a  skill  of  which  she 
was  herself  scarcely  conscious — playing  seldom,  even  for 
listeners  of  her  own  family,  but  habitually  and  constantly 
in  her  own  apartments  when  alone — and  it  had  become, 
now,  by  much  her  more  fluent  utterance,  readier  and 
more  confident  than  her  voice,  and  linked,  as  to  prompt 
ness  and  expressiveness,  with  the  very  pulses  of  her  brain. 


P  A  U  L      F  A  N  E  .  237 

She  thought  music!  And  her  improvisations — or  think 
ings  aloud  upon  the  piano— were  of  the  character  of 
reverie,  uncapricious,  and  of  the  unforced  and  natural 
melody  which  is  within  reach  of  full  sympathy  and  enjoy 
ment  by  the  unscientific  lover  of  music.  To  listen  to  her 
was  spirit-intercourse.  The  exchange  of  feeling  and  thought 
seemed  to  be  by  that  finer  medium  which  angels  have,  bet 
ter  than  language. 

It  will  be  understood  that  this  unsealing  of  an  inner 
sanctuary  of  thought-utterance,  was  more  than  a  sacrifice 
of  a  whim  of  secresy,  for  the  better  completion  of  a  por 
trait.  With  the  constitutional  reserve  of  Miss  Ashly,  the 
possession  of  this  secret  accomplishment  was  an  invisible- 
wall  by  which  she  was  shut  in  from  the  world — by  its  prac 
tice,  in  solitude  only,  as  unapproachable  as  if  encased  in 
crystal — and  the  admission  of  a  stranger  to  this  hidden 
world  was,  from  its  very  surprise  and  novelty,  a  full  sur 
render  of  confidence.  Within  it,  her  heart  had  not  an 
other  door !  And,  kept  simple  and  unsuspicious,  through 
all  her  womanhood,  as  her  imprisoned  susceptibilities  had 
thus  been,  she  was  like  a  child  let  out  of  school,  in  her 
frank  joyousness  of  expansion  and  sympathy. 

With  this,  and  the  peculiarity  of  Paul's  nature,  which 
has  been  already  explained  (his  disposition  wholly  to  for 
get  what  impression  he  might  himself  make,  when  once 
interested  to  absorb  the  meaning  or  sweetness  of  another's 


238  PAUL     FANE. 

mind),  it  is  not  wonderful  that  friendship  grew  apace. 
The  character  of  Miss  Ashly  seemed  to  him  a  beautiful 
study,  of  which  he  was  making  a  record  in  her  features. 
He  gave  his  whole  attention  to  an  admiring  analysis  and 
appreciation ;  and,  with  the  double  charm,  that,  while  she 
opened  her  heart  without  words,  in  her  music,  he  expressed 
his  admiration  without  words  by  his  pencil.  For  a  woman 
hitherto  so  cold  and  so  proud,  kept,  by  this  very  pride  and 
coldness,  unsophisticated  and  genuine,  there  was  resistless 
fascination  in  such  intercourse. 

But  these  eight  or  ten  days  of  constant  and  confiding 
intimacy  had  not  passed  without  peril  to  Paul's  incognito. 
It  was  very  evident  that  Miss  Ashly's  curiosity,  as  to  the 
history  and  circumstances  of  the  young  artist,  increased 
with  her  friendship  for  him.  Conversation  without  restraint, 
each  day  for  hours,  gave  naturally  many  opportunities  for 
allusions  and  leading  remarks,  and  these,  with  the  positive 
questions  which  good-breeding  allowed  from  time  to  time, 
Paul  parried,  of  course,  as  he  best  could,  but  with  immi 
nent  risk  of  detection.  "  Mr.  Evenden  "  was  at  last  estab 
lished  in  her  mind,  however,  as  an  artist  with  no  distinc 
tion  beyond  his  pencil,  and  dependent  wholly  upon  it  for 
future  support ;  and,  last  and  not  least,  with  no  engage 
ment  to  marry.  And  these  were  facts,  which,  with  some 
of  his  beginnings  in  art,  he  could  safely  disclose — the 
mystification  consisting  more  in  what  he  concealed,  and,  in 


PAULFANE.  239 

the  change  of  geography,  when  compelled  to  speak  as  a 
countryman  of  her  own. 

With  the  history  of  the  few  days  after  the  finishing  of 
the  portrait,  we  will  not  detain  the  reader.  Miss  Ashly 
made  arrangements  for  having  it  retouched,  before  she 
should  take  possession  of  it,  on  her  return  through  Flo 
rence  (for  she  modestly  insisted  that  he  had  made  it  much 
too  young  for  the  portrait  of  an  old  maid,  but  Paul  thought 
not),  and,  after  some  delaying  and  deferring,  she  took  her 
departure  for  Rome.  The  following  letter,  which  Paul 
received  from  her,  a  fortnight  after,  will  (with  what  we 
have  narrated)  explain  the  share  she  had  in  what  forms 
the  cobweb  thread  of  our  story — the  exorcising,  through 
contact  and  more  familiar  knowledge,  of  the  spell  that  had 
seemed  so  formidable  to  Paul's  self-appreciation,  and  which 
had  fortunately  taken  definite  shape,  at  his  first  starting  in 
life,  as  the  phantom  of  the  Ashly  eye. 

Thus  ran  the  letter  from  Rome  : — 


Po  PAUL  EVENDE:*,  ESQ.  : 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND, — I  am  the  first  to  write,  and  for  this  very- 
new  forwardness  in  myself,  my  pride  naturally  looks  about  for 
excuses.  The  best  I  can  find  within  reach  is,  that  I  am  the  idler 
of  the  two.  You  would  have  written  first  to  me  (I  will  believe,  at 
least,  till  this  letter  has  gone) !  but  for  devotion  to  your  pencils 
and  easel.  While  you  are  at  your  studio,  toiling  after  some  elusive 


240  PAUL     FANE. 

shadow  of  beauty,  I  am  alone  in  ray  room,  weary  of  sight-seeing, 
and  with  a  day  upon  my  hands. 

But  it  was  not  likely  that,  for  a  mere  letter  of  gossip,  I  should 
make  this  unusual  exception  to  my  habits  of  reserve.  I  may  as 
well  confess,  perhaps,  at  once,  that  I  am  seated  at  my  writing-desk, 
just  now,  with  a  resolution  (a  very  wavering  one,  as  yet) '  to 
express  something  in  which  I  am  far  more  interested  than  in  the 
passing  of  idle  time.  I  do  not  know  whether  I  shall  find  the 
courage  to  write  it — and,  at  any  rate,  I  may  seem  to  you  to  conn 
upon  it  rather  abruptly — but  it  is,  for  me,  the  arrival  at  a  point 
which  I  have  reached  by  steps  almost  imperceptible,  and  which 
nothing  but  perpetual  thought  would  have  familiarized  to  the 
pride  that  still  shrinks  from  it.  Will  you,  please,  imagine  for  me 
(what  I  should  blunderingly  explain,  I  fear)  this  wondrous  transi 
tion  of  my  nature  to  its  opposite  extreme  ? 

You  have  yourself  to  thank  for  the  delusion  under  which,  per 
haps,  I  am  mistakenly  troubling  you  at  present.  Without  your 
portrait  of  me,  and  your  sweet  persuasion  of  its  truth  while  paint 
ing  it,  I  should  have  submitted,  uncomplainingly,  to  Time's  closing 
of  the  gates  behind  me — the  beauty  which  is  in  that  picture,  with 
the  youthfulness  of  heart  of  which  it  still  tells  the  story,  consigned, 
warm  and  living,  to  the  tomb  of  the  Past!  For  I  am  "  an  old 
maid,"  Mr.  Evenden !  at  the  period  of  life  when,  thus  labelled,  we 
are  to  be  set  on  the  shelf,  and  stop  seeing  and  feeling. 

Yet,  I  must  say  that  the  glow  of  your  pencil's  portrayal  of  me 
is  rather  a  confirmation  than  a  surprise.  I  have  never  been  con 
scious  of  diminished  youth.  I  recognise  no  loss  of  freshness  in 
my  senses,  no  lessening  of  elasticity  either  in  step  or  in  spirits- 
certainly  no  waning  of  interest  in  what  is  externally  beautiful  or 
exciting — while  to  music  and  poetry  I  have  a  far  more  impassioned 


PAUL     FANE.  241 

susceptibility  than  in  years  gone  by.  To  my  only  confessor  (my 
piano)  I  have  often  poured  forth  the  murmurs  of  a  weary  sense  of 
accumulation  at  my  heart — affection  uncoined  and  uncounted,  that 
could  not  be  spent,  and  would  not  be  wasted  or  forgotten.  Why 
I  have  not  loved  or  been  loved,  with  this  lamp  of  feeling  burning 
at  the  altar,  I  know  not.  Possibly,  because,  of  the  two,  who  (you 
tell  me)  inhabit  this  temple,  there  has  been  seen  but  the  proud 
and  cold  one,  who  for  a  while  discouraged  your  pencil.  Certain, 
it  seems  to  me  that  you  are  the  first,  by  whom,  in  my  whole  life 
hitherto,  my  inner  self  has  been  seen  or  understood. 

And  now,  is  it  strange  that  I  wish  to  belong  to  my  first  dis 
coverer  ?  You  have  already  anticipated  what  I  would  say.  There 
are  objections.  I  have  weighed  them  against  my  wishes  and  my 
hopes.  I  am  older  than  you.  But  in  advance  though  I  certainly 
am,  in  years,  I  feel  side  by  side  with  you  in  the  youth  of  a  heart 
unwastcd  and  kept  back.  You  are  wedded  to  your  ambition  in 
art,  but  my  fortune  would  enable  you  to  pursue  it  even  more 
devotedly— :or  more  at  your  ease  and  pleasure.  And  I  have 
weighed  also  the  risk  of  being  refused,  against  the  possibility  that 
I  might  lose  you  through  only  your  ignorance  of  the  feeling  you 
had  inspired.  The  result  is  this  offer.  I  love  you,  and  would  be 
yours. 

I  wait  for  your  answer. 

Yours,  only, 

WINIFRED  ASHLY. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

PAUL'S  embarrassment,  on  receiving  the  letter  from  the 
stately  spinster  with  the  offer  of  her  hand,  was  almost 
enough  to  counterbalance  the  triumph  it  chanced  to  con- 
lain,  over  his  vampire  thought  of  an  Ashly.  He  became 
conscious,  now,  for  the  first  time,  how  exclusively  he  had 
followed  his  own  whim  in  the  whole  matter — the  subtle 
flattery  of  a  happily  idealized  likeness  having  been 
thoughtlessly  sustained  by  his  equally  flattering  deference 
and  conversation.  He  felt  guilty.  He  would  have  made 
an  individual  sacrifice,  and  not  a  small  one,  to  repair  the 
wrong.  But  there  were  others  interested,  on  both  her  side 
and  his  own,  for  whose  sake  he  must  decline  the  offer, 
while  at  the  same  time,  he  was  not  ready  to  reveal  all  the 
motives  upon  which  he  had  acted. 

The  portrait  stood  against  the  wall,  and  Paul  sat  before 
it  with  his  writing  materials  prepared  for  an  answer  to  the 
letter — his  heart  fairly  on  trial  before  the  calm  and  noble 
look  which  he  had  himself  given  to  the  features  of  Miss 


PAUL     FANE.  243 

Ashly — when,  by  the  measured  step  on  the  stair,  he  recog 
nized  the  approach  of  his  friend  Tetherly.  Regretting, 
with  his  first  thought,  that  his  present  trouble  involved  the 
secret  of  a  lady,  and  so  could  not  be  submitted  to  the  ever- 
ready  counsel  and  sympathy  of  his  friend,  he  closed  his 
portfolio,  and  was  sitting  unemployed  before  the  portrait 
when  Tetherly  entered. 

"  Found  at  your  devotions,  I  am  ready  to  testify,"  he 
said,  as  he  gave  Paul  his  two  fingers,  and  pointed  with  his 
stick  at  the  drawing.  "  And  well  worthy  of  a  man's  wor 
ship  she  seems  to  be,"  he  continued,  after  a  moment,  taking  a 
better  point  of  view,  and  becoming  wholly  absorbed  in  his 
gaze  ;  "  what  name  has  botany  for  such  bright  flowers  ?" 

"  Then  you  think  the  face  a  good  one  ?"  asked  Paul, 
without  answering  his  question,  but  with  his  curiosity 
enlivened  by  praise  so  unqualified  from  one  usually  so 
fastidious. 

"  I  like  it  better  than  any  face  I  have  seen  for  a  long 
time,"  said  Tetherly ;  "  though  I  should  like  to  know  whe 
ther  one  of  the  principal  charms  I  find  in  it  is  due  to  the 
artist.  Is  there  a  woman  in  the  world  who  looks  so 
unbreathed  upon  by  the  existence  of  any  other  human 
being — so  as  if,  in  consciousness,  at  least,  she  has  had  a 
whole  planet  to  herself." 

Paul  felt  that  what  he  had  most  labored  to  copy  with 
his  pencil  was  thus  put  into  language. 


244  PAUL     FANE. 

"I  thought  it  the  main  characteristic  of  the  expres 
sion  " — 

"  And  is  it  your  work  then  ?"  interrupted  his  visitor, 
turning  full  upon  him  with  a  look  of  incredulous  surprise ; 
"  rather  too  well  for  your  character  of  an  '  amateur  artist,' 
my  dear  Fane !" 

"One  may  turn  out  a  humbug  by  the  mere  force  of 
merit,  then  ?"  asked  Paul,  laughing  heartily  at  the  allusion 
to  the  quarrel  out  of  which  his  friend  had  helped  him ; 
"  but  you  have  penetrated  at  once  to  the  main-spring  of 
the  lady's  character,  my  dear  Tetherly !  She  has,  more 
than  most  people,  a  world  of  her  own.  Or,  to  express  it  a 
little  differently,  she  requires  to  be  so  far  sought  through 
the  depths  of  her  reserve  and  self-reliance,  that  the  dis 
tance  amounts  to  as  much." 

"Yet,  she  looks  genial,  even  behind  that  reserve," 
pursued  Tetherly ;  "  Is  this  her  habitual  expression  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Paul,  "  for  I  had  nearly  finished  her  portrait, 
as  I  thought,  before  I  saw  it  at  all.  The  face  had  even  grown 
unpleasing  to  me.  You  know  the  family  look,  for  she  is  an 
Ashly,  and  the  nephew,  who  has  the  same  stamp  of 
countenance,  made  the  same  unfavorable  first  impression 
on  yourself,  if  I  remember." 

And  here  Paul  explained  to  his  friend  the  circumstances 
which  had  brought  Miss  Ashly  to  him  as  a  sitter,  and  gave 
him  the  details,  for  the  first  time,  of  the  early  passage  in 


PAUL     FANE.  245 

his  own  history,  which  was  the  key  to  his  interest  in  the 
Ashly  physiognomy.  The  quiet  Englishman  listened  very 
thoughtfully ;  but  his  attention  was  still  very  evidently 
absorbed  by  the  picture  before  him ;  and  he  expressed,  in 
more  than  one  way  during  the  remaining  few  minutes  of 
his  call,  surprise  at  the  possibility  of  the  less  favorable 
impression  which  the  artist  had  received  from  a  face  so 
beautiful. 

With  the  closing  of  the  door  upon  him,  Paul  re-opened 
his  portfolio  to  resume  the  interrupted  task.  But  as  he 
sat  and  turned  over  in  his  mind  the  match,  he  had  the 
ungrateful  necessity  of  declining,  it  suddenly  flashed  upon 
him  that  there  was  a  singular  suitableness — in  age,  taste, 
and  character,  and  now  by  manifest  predilection  at  first 
sight  of  her  portrait — between  Miss  Ashly  and  his  friend. 
The  more  he  thought  of  it,  the  more  they  seemed  made 
for  each  other.  And,  by  an  irresistible  impulse  (for  which, 
with  his  aversion  to  meddling  with  other  people's  disposal 
of  their  hearts,  he  afterward  could  never  very  naturally 
account),  he  was  inspired  to  attempt  a  transfer,  to  Tetherly, 
of  what  that  letter  was  to  refuse  for  himself.  He  thus 
wrote : — 

DEAR  Miss  ASHLY  : 

Your  letter  to  "Mr.  Evenden"  is  herewith  enclosed,  and  you 
will  be  surprised  to  hear  that  there  is  no  such  person.  The  artist 


246  PAUL    FANE. 

who  painted  your  portrait  assumed  the  name  (for  an  object  which 
shall  be  more  fully  explained  to  you  hereafter),  and  it  was  in  the 
course  of  maintaining  his  incognito,  that  he  thoughtlessly  admitted 
your  supposition  as  to  the  freedom  of  his  hand.  He  thus  led  you 
into  an  error  for  which  he  hopes  so  to  apologize  as  to  be  forgiven. 
He  is  not  at  liberty,  at  present,  to  form  any  matrimonial  engage 
ment;  but  he  hopes  that  you  will  still  allow  him  to  retain  the  double 
flattery  which  your  letter  contains — precious  flattery  both  for  the 
artist  and  the  man — and  to  burn  incense  to  friendship,  on  an  altar 
which,  under  other  circumstances,  might  have  been  sacred  to  love. 
The  explanation  of  the  reasons  for  the  incognito,  is  only  deferred 
till  the  denownent  of  a  little  drama  of  which  it  is  just  now  a 
part. 

But,  in  the  confidence  with  which  you  have  inspired  me  as  a 
reader  of  character  (to  speak  once  more  in  my  own  person),  I  am 
tempted  to  share  with  you  the  reading  of  another,  which,  like  your 
own,  offered  to  me  a  problem,  at  first.  I  cannot  resist  coupling  the 
two,  as  mysteries  of  human  nature  chancing  to  be  unravelled  at  the 
came  place  and  time,  though  I  was  not  indebted,  in  this  instance  aa 
in  yours,  to  the  having  a  pencil  in  my  hand,  and  features  under 
study  for  a  picture.  Not  being  a  professed  artist,  Florence  has  been 
to  me  the  living  gallery  that  it  is  to  the  traveller  and  student  of 
society ;  and  you  will  pardon  me  if  I  designate  yourself  and  this 
other  friend  as  two  of  its  most  priceless  originals. 

Mr.  Tetherly  (the  gentleman  whom,  without  his  consent,  I  am 
proposing  to  introduce  to  you)  might  make  your  acquaintance  in 
the  ordinary  way.  He  is  a  friend,  already,  of  your  nephew's,  I 
know.  But,  with  such  chance  introduction,  you  would  each  take 
a  wholly  erroneous  impression  of  the  other,  and  would  part,  of 
course,  more  strangers  than  before — the  veiled  countenance  and 


PAUL     FANE.  247 

qualities,  of  each,  being  (if  I  am  not  mistaken)  just  that  of  which 
the  other  might  be  most  appreciative.  By  recalling  the  difference 
between  my  own  first  sketch  of  yourself  and  the  portrait  which 
conveyed  my  subsequent  conception  of  your  features,  you  will  be 
lieve  that,  even  with  the  most  open  eyes,  two  human  countenances 
may  require  an  interpreter  to  exchange  language  uuderstandingly. 

Would  it  prepossess  you  at  all  in  my  friend's  favor  if  I  were  to 
begin  by  saying  that  he  has  just  the  quality  of  your  sex  in  which 
our  own  is  so  likely  to  be  your  inferior — a  most  sensitive  and  re 
fined  delicacy  and  modesty?  It  is  the  somewhat  morbid  action  of 
this  quality  that  produces  the  sleepless  self-depreciation  which  is 
his  main  characteristic,  and  under  which  his  beautiful  nature  is 
effectually  masked.  The  dread  that  he  will  be  credited  with  some 
excellence  which  he  does  not  possess,  or  that  he  may  heedlessly 
take  advantage  of  some  privilege  to  which  he  is  not  fairly  entitled, 
amounts  to  a  nervous  disclaimer  perpetually  visible  in  his  manners ; 
and,  to  the  superficial  observer,  this  seems  but  a  bluff  antagonism, 
eccentric  and  unsocial.  Give  him  but  the  opportunity  to  serve 
you,  by  a  genial  acting  out  of  his  better  and  more  confident  self, 
and  he  changes  as  effectually  as  did  the  portrait  of  Miss  Ashly 
under  my  suddenly  enlightened  and  wholly  reinspired  pencil. 

Of  Mr.  Tetherly's  more  obvious  qualities  as  a  man,  the  devoted 
friendship  of  so  eminent  and  discriminating  a  person  as  the  English 
minister  is  warranty  enough.  His  Excellency  is  not  likely  to  have 
crowded  his  attention  and  preference  with  such  flattering  constancy 
and  perseverance  on  an  unworthy  subject.  It  is  only  strange  that 
one  so  admirably  suited  to  make  happy  the  most  highly  endowed 
and  tender  of  female  natures  (really  quite  the  most  model  man  I 
know  of  for  a  husband)  should  be  apparently  fated  to  die  single. 
It  seems  to  me,  indeed,  one  of  those  needless  irrecognitions  of 


248  P  A  U  L       F  A  N  E  . 

fitness  which  have  only  to  be  pointed  out  to  be  wondered  at  and 
remedied.  Without  taking  him  into  our  confidence,  at  all,  may  I 
not  present  him  to  you,  on  your  return  to  Florence,  and  so  let  him 
submit  unconsciously  to  one  more  trial  of  his  horoscope  ?  If  I  am 
at  all  a  judge  of  character  and  suitableness,  no  two  hearts  were 
evej  formed  to  beat  more  in  harmony  than  this  unappropriated 
bachelor's  and  your  own. 

The  letter  I  enclose  to  you  (addressed  to  an  unfound  "Mr. 
Evenden"),  may  be  returned  to  your  portfolio  as  if  never  truant 
from  thence — though,  with  actual  life  rather  than  romance  to  guide 
us,  I  think  we  might  even  venture  to  treat  it  openly,  as  but  an 
erased  page  of  love.  Previous  passions  are  confessable,  I  think, 
as  being  but  the  schooling  which  has  made  us  ready  for  better 
lessons;  and,  with  the  inexperienced,  especially,  a  rash  love  is  a 
likely  and  liberalizing  prelude  to  a  ripe  and  well-considered  one. 
At  present,  it  seems  to  me  that  it  will  only  be  necessary  for  you  to 
look  upon  Mr.  Tetherly  to  understand  the  natural  progression  by 
which  he  should  take  precedence  of  Mr.  Eveuden,"  though,  as  1 
said  before,  the  existence  of  that  gentleman  and  the  letter  addressed 
to  him,  may  be  secrets,  if  you  please,  for  yourself  only. 

I  retain  your  portrait,  for  a  final  sitting,  on  your  return ;  and  I 
shall  take  that  opportunity,  with  your  permission,  to  bring  about 
what  will  seem,  to  Mr.  Tetherly,  a  chance  introduction  to  you.  It 
will  scarce  be  to  him  like  the  beginning  of  acquaintance,  however, 
as  he  has  fairly  fallen  in  love  with  your  picture,  and  what  with  our 
discussion  of  its  expressed  characteristics  and  his  own  thoughtful 
and  enamored  study  of  its  expression  and  meaning,  will  look  upon 
you  by  no  means  as  a  stranger.  Arid  so,  having  (last,  but  not 
least)  confessed  to  what  was  the  real  prompting  of  the  main  burden 
of  my  letter,  I  will  beg  your  pardon  for  its  eccentric  freedom,  dear 


PAUL    FANE.  249 

Miss  Ashly,  and  (reserving,  for  the  present,  the  more  prosaic  histo 
ries  of  myself  and  my  friend),  remain 

Yours  most  sincerely, 

PAUL  FANE. 

[We  are  compelled,  occasionally,  to  take  our  measure, 
for  a  chapter,  rather  by  incident  than  by  length  of  de 
scription,  and  we  will  beg  the  reader's  pardon  for  entering 
upon  the  next  phase  of  our  story  in  another  chapter.] 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

IT  was  during  the  week  that  intervened  between  the 
dispatch  of  the  foregoing  letter  and  the  return  of  Miss 
Ashly  to  Florence ;  and  Paul  was  using  his  privilege,  for 
the  morning,  at  the  easel  placed  for  him  in  the  private 
studio  of  the  Princess  C.  The  hours  waxed  on,  toward 
noon,  and  he  was  ostensibly  busy  with  his  pencil ;  but  he 
had  gone  there  with  a  burden  on  his  thoughts  which  was 
not  to  be  unladen  through  his  Art,  and  to  give  utterance 
to  which,  as  yet,  he  had  not  found  the  apt  first  word 
required  by  his  sensitiveness. 

With  any  mere  embarrassment  of  distinctions  in  polite 
ness,  or  question  calling  for  more  practised  knowledge  of 


250  PAUL     FANE. 

the  world,  Paul  had  a  reference  both  kindly  and  reliable 
in  his  friend  Tetherly ;  but  he  had  received  two  letters, 
the  previous  evening,  involving,  between  them,  a  point  of 
feeling,  such  as  only  the  heart  of  a  woman  could  give 
counsel  upon.  And  yet,  now,  while  he  thanked  heaven 
for  the  friendship  within  reach — combining  the  wisdom 
and  disinterestedness  of  a  lofty  nature  with  the  exquisite 
tenderness  of  woman — the  conversation  made  its  way  but 
gradually  toward  the  subject  nearest  his  heart. 

"  I  see  it  is  *  invita  Minerva?  this  morning,"  said  the 
sculptress,  dropping  her  moulding-stick  to  her  side,  and 
stepping  back  to  get  a  remoter  look  at  the  clay  bust  she 
was  moulding ;  "  your  pencil  shows  a  hand  as  unwilling  as 
mine." 

"  I  wish  the  pencil  were  as  successful  as  its  rival,"  replied 
Paul.  "And  I  must  ask  leave,"  he  continued,  turning 
from  his  drawing  to  come  in  front  of  the  moulding- 
stand,  "while  the  model  is  still  nominally  unfinished,  to 
flatter  my  chum  Blivins  with  an  introduction  to  it.  We 
might  thus  make  doubly  sure  of  what  ought  to  be 
achieved  by  the  expression  only — his  admiring  consent 
to  its  existence.  There  never  was  a  purer  representa 
tion  of  woman." 

"  Why,  it  could  not  be  otherwise  and  be  true  to  Nature's 
imprint  on  the  original,"  said  the  princess ;  "  she  has  fear 
lessness  and  playfulness,  two  of  the  most  reliable  signs  of 


PAULFANE.  251 

innocence.  A  lover  should  not  object  to  such  a  portrait. 
Her  desire  to  be  thus  modelled  is  very  far  from  an  indeli 
cacy.  It  is  her  pride  in  what  she  recognises  in  herself  as 
beautiful — vanity,  if  you  please,  and  somewhat  underbred 
in  its  exhibition — but,  with  purity  quite  unalarmed.  seek 
ing  admiration." 

"  My  friend  Blivins  has  the  more  common  standard  of 
modesty,  however,  demanding  great  show  of  concealment 
and  entrenchment. ' 

"  A  show  that  oftenest  indicates  pretence  and  conscious 
uncertainty — if  gentlemen  did  but  know  it.  Hypocrisy  in 
all  things  talks  loudest.  Now  what  could  be  more  unof 
fending  to  the  eye  of  genuine  purity  than  thus  much  of 
the  form  of  this  fearlessly  innocent  creature  ?  The  play 
ful  humor  with  which  she  frolicked,  at  her  first  sitting, 
corroborated,  for  me,  this  impression  of  her  charac 
ter.  And  I  have  tried  to  give  pure  and  unconscious  fear 
lessness  to  the  countenance,  as  Nature  has  done.  It  would 
pass,  I 'think,  for  an  ideal  of  a  most  spotless  American 
Hebe." 

"Yet  we  are  about  to  show  you  a  higher  model  of  one," 
said  Paul,  one  of  whose  pent-up  subjects  was  thus 
approached.  "Another  Hebe — the  young  girl  who  was 
my  boyhood's  ideal  of  what  was  purest  and  loveliest — is  to 
be  here  to-morrow." 

"  Ah,  indeed !     And  that  is  the  happiness  which  so  hin 


252  PAUL     FANE. 

ders  industry,  this  morning,  I  suppose  ?"  asked  the  princess, 
with  a  smile. 

"  It  acts  upon  my  pencil,  I  confess,"  was  the  reluctant 
reply,  "but  not  altogether  as  a  hindrance  of  happiness. 
Longing,  as  I  certainly  do,  to  see  this  playmate  of  my 
childhood,  it  will  be  under  a  restraint  which  I  look  for 
ward  to  with  great  embarrassment." 

"  Another  love  ?"  inquired  his  friend,  with  a  smile. 

"Not  exactly — though  it  will  certainly  bear  the  look, 
and  perhaps  have  to  be  admitted  and  acted  upon  as  one* 
It  is  a  dilemma,  to  tell  the  truth,  in  which  I  am  very  much 
in  need  of  your  womanly  advice." 

The  countenance  of  the  princess  assumed  the  look  of 
truthful  earnest  which  was  so  prompt  to  appear,  at  any 
call,  keeping  her  eccentricities,  as  well  as  her  rank  and 
fashion,  subject  to  the  language  of  her  genuine  human 
heart;  and  Paul,  with  his  confidence  fully  responsive  to 
the  large,  calm  eyes  bent  upon  him,  proceeded  to  tell 
his  story. 

The  more  recent  news  from  the  Palefords  had  given 
less  favorable  reports  of  the  condition  of  their  invalid. 
"With  the  close  of  the  season,  and  the  usual  dispersion 
of  the  company  at  the  Baths,  she  had  not  been  con 
sidered  strong  enough  to  return  to  their  home  near 
Florence,  and  it  was  now  understood  that  she  was  fail 
ing  fast,  and  that  they  were  but  awaiting,  at  Lucca, 


PAUL    FANE.  253 

the  fatality  daily  expected.  "With  so  melancholy  an 
event  for  exchange  of  sympathy,  the  correspondence 
had  both  saddened  and  lessened,  and  Paul  was  looking 
for  one  of  the  colonel's  brief  and  friendly  missives  from 
the  sick-room,  when,  to  his  great  surprise,  he  received, 
from  the  invalid  herself,  a  letter,  evidently  written  at 
intervals,  and  forwarded  at  last  without  the  knowledge 
of  those  around  her.  It  was  scarce  legible,  from  the 
weakness  with  which  the  pen  had  been  held,  but  Paul 
had  conned  well  its  broken  periods,  and  he  read  thus  to 
his  thoughtful  listener : 

MY  DEAR  MR.  FANE: 

Without  dating  my  letter  precisely  from  Spirit-land,  I  may  almost 
claim  a  hearing  from  thence— so  nearly  arrived  thither  that  I  begin 
to  see  with  the  unworldly  eyes  of  that  better  existence,  and  find 
ing  something  to  look  back  and  say,  which  you  will  first  read  pro 
bably,  when  I  am  already  there.  It  will  be  written  with  the 
trembling  hand  of  departure,  and  at  broken  moments,  stolen  from 
the  watchfulness  of  the  dear  one  of  whom  I  wish  to  speak ;  but  I 
trust  to  find  strength  and  opportunity,  as  I  go  on,  and  to  trace, 
with  this  last  use  of  pen  and  ink,  words  which  your  kindly  eyes 
may  manage  to  decipher.  If  I  mistake  not,  there  will  be  an  intui 
tion  at  your  heart  that  will  even  anticipate  my  meaning ;  and,  pray 
believe  that,  if  it  be  possible  to  return  to  earth  through  the  records 
of  thoughts  that  go  with  us  to  heaven,  these  ill-traced  words  will 
speak  to  you  also  with  a  spirit-presence. 

In  hereby  bequeathing  to  you  what  influence  I  may  have  toward 


254  PAUL     FANE. 

entrusting  you  with  the  happiness  of  my  child  (the  object  of  my 
letter),  I  do  but  and  my  blessing,  perhaps,  to  what  would  other 
wise  just  as  certainly  be  yours.  The  evidence  that  she  loves  you 
has  been  such  as  you  could  not  be  blind  to ;  and — with  her 
reserved  pride,  and  the  truth  of  a  woman's  instinct — I  cannot  sup 
pose  her  belief,  in  the  feeling  she  thus  confidently  reciprocates,  to 
be  an  error.  You  love  my  dear  Sybil,  do  you  not? 

But  there  are  cobwebs  across  your  path,  which,  by  scruples  of 
romance  or  delicacy,  may  be  magnified  into  barriers  impassable. 
The  first  of  these,  you  will  be  surprised  to  hear,  is  her  father's 
more  worldly  ambition  for  her.  Fond  as  he  is  of  you,  personally 
(loving  you,  I  believe,  with  a  friendship  that  would  make  a  sacri 
fice  of  anything,  merely  his  own,  to  serve  you),  he  is  distrustful  of 
the  prospect  for  happiness  with  your  confessedly  very  limited 
means.  He  thinks  Sybil  is  of  the  type  requiring  rather  the  ele 
gancies  of  profusion — freedom,  at  least,  from  all  care.  He  fears 
your  both  waking,  soon  and  sad,  from  a  dream  it  were  wiser  to 
prevent. 

With  the  memories  of  my  own  life  of  trying  reverses,  I  am,  of 
course,  fully  aware  of  what  spells,  without  wealth,  are  left  unwo 
ven.  They  are  many,  it  is  true  ;  and  I  could  well  wish,  for  you 
and  Sybil,  that  there  were  independence  of  means,  on  one  side  or 
the  other.  But  there  are  elements  of  happiness  far  more  import 
ant  to  a  sensitive  and  refined  nature,  for  the  securing  of  which,  if 
need  be,  the  risk  of  poverty  may  wisely  be  run.  Even  if  I  had 
not  been  always  a  better  judge  of  this,  as  a  woman,  I  could  now 
claim  a  truer  view,  as  seen  with  the  disillusionizing  retrospect  from 
Death's  door. 

Oh,  how  many  are  the  hours  for  which  wealth  has  no  beguiling ! 
How  often  might  a  word,  or  a  look,  send  a  light  into  the  heart 


PAUL    FANE.  255 

which  could  come  from  no  blaze  of  jewels — enter  by  no  lofty  win 
dow  !  Pardon  me,  but  there  are  so  few  of  your  sex,  particularly 
of  the  wealthy  and  powerful,  who  have,  for  woman,  the  ingrained 
deference,  the  never-lessening  honor,  which  form  her  atmosphere 
for  happiness !  It  is  rare,  because  it  is  something  which  can  hardly 
be  learned.  It  must  be  instinctive,  a  finer  fibre  of  character  born 
of  poetry  and  tenderness,  but  strengthened  and  polished  by  the 
trials  and  studies  which  make  a  man  chivalric  and  intellectual. 
Woman  herself  does  not  give  the  key  to  it.  In  the  compliance 
and  natural  impressibility  of  her  gentler  nature,  she  allows  it  to  be 
forgotten  how  pure  she  would  rather  be — how  more  delicate  and 
more  sensitive  may  be  the  heart  whose  want  is  left  obediently 
unasserted. 

I  am  not  sure,  my  dear  Mr.  Fane,  that,  in  the  fitness  which  I 
see  in  you,  as  the  match  which  my  heart  requires  for  that  faultless 
child,  I  have  not  given  great  weight  to  your  genius.  The  differ 
ence  which  this  would  make  in  a  lover's  appreciation  of  her,  was 
shown  in  your  inspired  portrait — the  picture  of  what  she  is  like, 
to  your  eyes — representing  her  as  the  angel  that  she  seems  to  her 
mother.  This  touches  a  tender  spot,  for  me !  With  the  thought 
of  giving  over,  to  any  human  being,  the  uncontrolled  and  irreversi 
ble  possession  of  one  so  unspeakably  precious,  one  so  unbreathed 
upon  in  her  purity  and  loveliness,  there  comes  a  dread  which  is 
almost  like  a  fear  of  desecration,  and  which  exacts  hallowed  rev 
erence  in  the  one  who  is  to  be  trusted  with  her.  From  a  lofty- 
hearted  mother  of  your  own,  you  have  taken,  I  know,  a  blessed 
estimate  of  woman.  And,  with  this,  and  the  idealizing  elevation 
of  genius,  you  have  (what  I  already  said  was  the  rarest  quality  in 
men)  the  deference  and  honor  for  our  sex,  in  which  the  timid 
breath  of  happiness  is  drawn  trustfully  and  freely. 


256  PAUL    PANE. 

Between  yourself  and  Sybil,  I  know,  there  has  been,  as  yet,  no 
open  avowal  of  love.  In  the  scruple  as  to  your  means  of  support 
for  a  wife  (which  I  feel  safe  in  believing  to  be  the  only  reason  for 
your  hesitation),  there  is  a  barrier  which  might  become  insur 
mountable  without  the  encouragement  which  I  here  give.  I  think 
you  may  safely  put  it  aside.  With  the  feeling  that  Sybil  now  has 
for  you,  her  happiness,  I  am  very  certain,  would  be  best  assurod 
by  sharing  your  lot — half  of  the  right  fate,  with  any  trials,  being 
better  than  the  half  of  the  wrong  one,  with  wealth  and  splendor. 
I  am  sure  that  she  thinks  so.  I  write  it  here,  that  you  may  have 
the  record  of  her  mother's  thought  and  wish,  to  outweigh  the 
more  worldly  hesitancy  of  her  father — his  over-fond  caution,  and 
your  over-generous  delicacy  likely  to  combine,  I  fear,  in  what 
would  be  but  a  mistaken  tenderness  of  prudence. 

"  Have  I  said  enough,  dear  Mr.  Fane  ?  Will  what  I  have  said 
give  you  my  priceless  daughter,  with  a  mother's  blessing  ?  I  write 
with  my  eyes  full  of  their  last  tears — my  heart  full  of  what  will  go 
with  me,  please  God,  to  a  better  world  !  Farewell !  keep  my  child 
company  on  her  way  to  join  me,  and  let  me  meet  you  hereafter, 
as  two  who  were  made  one  for  Heaven,  by  having  passed  their 
lives  in  this  world  blessedly  together !  Keep  her  pure !  Be  as 
pure !  And  may  God  bless  you,  united !  While  this  trembling 

hand  can  write  it, 

Yours  affectionately, 

GERTRUDE  PALEFORD. 


The  princess  drew  her  hat  more  over  her  eyes,  as  Paul 
laid  the  letter  on  his  knee,  but  there  was  a  gleam  of  light 
upon  their  moist  surface,  which  flashed  out  of  the  shadow. 


PAULFANE.  257 

"  A  singular  and  beautiful  bequest,1'  she  said,  "  to  which 
there  should  be  but  a  prompt  acceptance,  if  all  be  as  she 
thought." 

"  Which  I  fear  it  is  not,"  said  Paul,  "  though,  upon  the 
possibility  (if  it  were  for  Miss  Paleford's  happiness),  I 
should  be  ready,  of  course,  to  stake  all  that  is  involved 
merely  of  my  own.  Before  I  say  more  upon  this  point, 
however,  let  me  read  an  extract  from  the  letter,  received 
at  the  same  time,  announcing  the  coming  of  my  friends  from 
America." 

And  Paul  opened  his  mother's  letter,  and  read  from  the 
two  concluding  pages  as  follows  : — 

Mrs.  Cleverly  will  remain  for  some  time  in  Florence ;  and,  for 
you  to  have  Mary  Evenden  there,  in  the  midst  of  objects  and 
associations  of  such  common  interest  to  you  both,  will,  of  course, 
be  delightful.  The  Arts — always  a  sufficient  feast  to  share  even  at 
home — will  be  like  an  intoxication  of  sympathy  where  their  charms 
are  perfected  by  the  world's  masterpieces.  But,  my  dear  Paul, 
a  thought  here  takes  shape,  which  has  been  to  me,  for  some  time, 
"  a  shadow  on  the  wall."  More  or  less  haunted  by  it  for  years, 
and  dismissing  it  constantly  as  a  subject  that  would  be  more  man 
ageable  by-and-by,  I  must  express  it  now  as  a  new  anxiety — though 
very  possibly,  in  your  mind  it  is  a  familiar  matter,  long  ago  recog 
nized  and  disposed  of.  The  more  needless  my  nervousness  shall 
thus  prove  to  have  been,  however,  the  better  pleased  I  shall  be. 

It  is  not  the  same  Mary  you  left,  who  comes  to  you,  now,  in 
Florence.  Has  it  occurred  to  you,  that  the  child,  who  has  been 


258  PAUL     FANE. 

all  her  life  like  a  raster,  with  nothing  to  change  the  feeling  while 
the  first  dream  was  uninterrupted,  is  to  meet  you  again,  after  a 
long  and  endearing  absence,  as  a  woman  ?  From  some  changes 
that  I  see,  I  doubt  whether  she  will  even  look  the  same  to  you. 
She  is  fuller ;  and  with  the  maturing  of  her  form,  her  eyes  and 
manner  have  a  different  expression. 

I  have  thought,  always,  that  there  was  a  peculiarity  rather  remark 
able  in  Mary's  sentiment  towards  you.  All  through  your  boyhood, 
and  till  you  left  us  for  Europe,  she  had  an  interest  in  you,  which 
(as  you  must  have  known),  absorbed  every  faculty  of  her  nature  ; 
but  while  this,  by  its  quantity  of  affection,  should  be  love,  it  was, 
in  its  quality  wholly,  intellectual.  She  had  an  idolatry  for  what 
she  thought  to  be  your  genius ;  and,  though  not  without  a  child's 
caressingness  and  affectionateness,  I  looked  in  vain  for  any  sign  of 
preference,  as  manifested  commonly  in  personal  admiration,  jeal 
ousy  of  attention  to  others,  watchfulness  of  looks,  etc.,  etc.  Your 
secret  devotion  to  Art  was,  to  her,  the  life  and  presence  of  your 
second  and  inner  nature ;  and  if  this  could  have  been  found  sepa 
rately  embodied  from  what  others  knew  as  my  son  Paul,  I  think 
your  mere  outward  person  would  have  been  easily  estranged  from 
her  thoughts. 

But  now,  how  are  you  to  meet  ?  That  which  Mary  loved  in  you 
is,  more  than  before,  your  outward  identity — you  are,  much  more 
completely  and  admirably,  Paul  the  artist.  The  time  of  her 
absence  from  you  has  been  passed  in  the  studious  heightening  of 
the  taste  by  which  she  appreciates  your  genius ;  she  will  be  as 
much  readier  than  before  to  give  her  whole  soul  to  Paul  the  artist, 
as  he  is  worthier  than  before  to  be  so  absorbingly  worshipped. 
Then,  even  if  she  were  not  the  strangely  single-hearted  creature 
that  she  is — (capable,  I  truly  believe,  of  but  one  devotion  in  a  life- 


PAUL     FANE.  259 

time) — the  atmosphere  in  which  you  meet  is,  in  itself,  an  inevitable 
renewal  of  the  sympathy  which  united  you.  Florence  is  the  Eden 
of  Art,  in  which  you  will  both  feel  it  to  be  the  happiness  of  the 
blest  to  be  permitted  to  walk  together. 

And  is  the  newly-awakened  woman  to  take  no  part  in  this? 
Already  yours  by  taste,  intellect,  and  habit  of  childhood,  is  she  at 
all  unlikely  to  find  a  new  feeling  at  her  heart  for  the  matured  man 
that  you  are,  and  love  you  with  her  outward  and  more  common 
nature,  tenderly,  passionately,  and  overwhelmingly?  This  is  an 
important  question  for  me,  my  dear  son!  Mary  was  entrusted  to 
us  with  a  confidence  which  makes  my  "  watch  and  ward  "  over  her, 
even  more  responsible  than  a  mother's.  In  the  prosperity  and 
happiness  of  such  a  love  as  this  would  be  for  her,  I  should  feel 
every  sympathy  of  my  heart,  as  well  as  every  pulse  of  my  sense 
of  duty  fully  interested.  The  bare  possibility  that  one  so  precious 
might  love  unhappily  a  son  of  mine,  is,  as  I  said  before,  at  present, 
my  fearful  "shadow  on  the  wall." 

But,  perhaps,  my  imagination — here,  in  my  solitude,  without 
you — is  conjuring  up  needless  phantoms  of  improbability.  You 
have  been  away  so  long,  and  have  been  subjected  to  so  many  new 
and  dazzling  influences,  that  I  naturally  feel  uncertain  of  my 
knowledge  of  you.  If,  as  I  most  fervently  hope  and  pray,  you 
still  feel  the  boy's  devotion  to  this  most  lovely  and  gifted  of 
friends  and  playmates,  and  are  prepared  to  fulfil,  to  the  heart  of 
the  woman,  the  promise  that  was  planted  and  nurtui-ed  so  long 
and  uninterruptedly  in  the  fancy  of  the  child,  my  anxieties  are 
happily  needless.  At  least,  my  dear  boy,  I  have  thus  possessed 
you  of  my  thought  upon  the  subject.  Do  not  meet  Mary  till  you 
have  fairly  asked  yourself  the  question,  as  to  the  venture  it  will  be. 


260  PAUL     FANE. 

Paul  closed  the  letter  from  his  mother,  and  placed  it, 
with  the  one  he  had  previously  read,  in  the  hand  of  the 
princess — the  two  strangely  co-incident  appeals  to  his 
decision,  upon  which  he  so  needed  counsel — but  the  con 
versation  was  not  readily  resumed. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THE  tete-a-tete  reverie  (for  Loth  were  perplexed  with 
thoughts  which  struggled  in  vain  for  precedence  in 
words)  was  interrupted,  at  last,  by  the  princess's  rising, 
with  a  smile,  and  returning  to  the  model  on  which  shf 
had  been  at  work. 

"  It  shows  how  limited  is  Art,  after  all,"  she  said 
"  that  we  cannot  express,  in  marble  or  on  canvas,  the 
two- person  identity,  which  gives  so  much  trouble  in  love. 
How  would  any  likeness  of  you,  for  instance,  resemble 
both  Mr.  Fane  the  attache  and  my  friend  Paul  the  artist — 
two  very  separate  gentlemen,  who  have  inspired,  it  appears, 
very  different  passions  in  two  wholly  unlike  and  separate 
ladies !  I  venture  to  say  (though  both  the  attache  and 
the  artist  inhabit  the  one  body),  you  look  wholly  different 
to  the  eyes  of  the  two." 


PAUL     FANE.  261 

"Yet,"  said  Paul,  with  a  still  very  abstracted  air,  "I 
have  not  willingly  concealed,  either  the  man  of  society  or 
the  artist — though  it  would  appear  that  I  am  but  one  of 
these  at  a  time.  Your  highness  still  leaves  me  in  my 
dilemma,  however.  By  which  of  the  two  letters  I  have 
now  read  to  you,  does  my  honor  most  bind  me  to  be 
guided  ?" 

"  Why,  to  tell  the  truth,"  she  replied,  after  a  moment 
of  hesitation,  "  if  the  claims  of  both  are  not  fairly  equal, 
they  are  both,  at  least,  so  strong,  that  a  preference  of 
either  must  seem  an  injustice  to  the  other.  Mrs.  Pale- 
ford  would  seem  to  have  written  without  consulting  her 
daughter — but  she  assumes  that  there  is  a  mutually  un 
derstood  passion  between  you  and  Sybil,  and  that  the  girPs 
happiness  depends'on  marrying  you." 

"  Possibly  a  very  incorrect  opinion  on  the  part  of  Mrs 
Paleford,"  said  Paul  (contending,  as  he  spoke,  with  his 
self-reproving  memory  of  the  birthday  breakfast),  "  for, 
though  chance  circumstances  may  have  given  me  a 
temporary  favor  in  the  young  lady's  eyes,  her  ideal  of 
me  (as  you  just  now  said)  is  but  a  partial  and  imperfect 
one.  I  am  not  the  complete  and  mere  man  of  society 
that  she  then  took  me  to  be.  Would  her  happiness  be 
best  consulted  by  a  marriage  (even  if  she  should  prove 
to  wish  it),  with  one  she  but  half  understands  ?" 

"  Why,  in  finding  you  to  be  more  than  she  first  loved 


262  PAUL     FANE. 

you  for  being,"  said  the  princess,  with  a  mischievous 
look  of  gravity,  "  I  question  the  probability  of  a  dis 
appointment.  Very  few  marriages  have  surprises  on  that 
side." 

"  But  may  she  not  think  the  artist  rather  a  subtraction 
from  the  man  of  the  world  than  an  addition  to  his 
merits  ?  She  looks  upon  Art,  at  present,  as  a  mere 
amateur  accomplishment  of  mine — like  a  taste  for  auto 
graphs  or  minerals.  It  may  be  a  surprise  the  other 
way,  to  find  that  the  outer  and  more  courtly  world, 
to  which  she  had  supposed  me  to  belong  altogether, 
must  lessen  gradually  in  interest — the  inner  and  artist 
world,  for  which  she  has  no  sympathy,  assuming  pro 
portionately  greater  importance." 

"  Are  you  sure  that  she  has  no  taste  for  Art,  then  ?" 
asked  his  friend. 

"  The  good  taste  of  a  refined  education,  undoubtedly," 
proceeded  Paul,  with  the  monotone  of  one  thinking  aloud ; 
"  she  could  scarce  be  her  mother's  daughter  without  that. 
But — as  your  highness  well  knows — there  must  be  more 
than  mere  taste,  to  produce  the  sympathy  which  is  de 
manded  from  love  by  an  intellectual  inner  nature.  The 
artist,  to  be  happy,  must  be  more  loved  for  his  genius 
than  his  person.  The  productions  of  his  pencil  must  be 
more  endearing  than  his  manners  or  social  accomplish 
ments.  And  what  would  be  more  melancholy  for  herself, 


PAUL     FANE.  263 

than  to  find  the  progress  of  life  to  be  only  the  widening 
of  a  chasm  of  dissimilarity — her  husband  requiring,  more 
and  more,  that  love  on  the  altar  of  genius  which  she  has 
no  fire  of  sympathy  to  kindle  ! " 

"  Yet  is  not  her  present  preference  for  you  an  instinctive 
appreciation  of  your  whole  nature  ? "  inquired  the  princess, 
evidently  interested  for  the  heart  under  discussion. 

"  That  Miss  Sybil  entertains  for  me  partly  the  fancy  or 
natural  liking  upon  which  girls  oftenest  marry,"  said  Paul, 
"  I  think  very  probable.  But  her  preference  is  partly  also 
the  expression  of  an  antagonism.  Her  imaginary  horror 
chances  to  be  what  is  commonly  called  a  'mercenary 
match,'  and,  with  my  avowed  poverty,  her  girlish  romance 
is,  of  course,  enlisted,  as  her  love  would  be  disinterested. 
But  poverty  is  not  an  attraction  that  would  wear  bright 
with  time  and  using." 

"  Nor  would  the  contrary,"  said  the  princess  signifi 
cantly. 

"  But  the  contrary,  at  least,  gives  the  means  of  trying 
other  resources  for  happiness,"  insisted  Paul.  "  Except  to 
very  impassioned  natures,  a  romantic  love  is  scarce  a 
necessity ;  and  wealth  has  many  a  compensation  for  the 
heart  that  has  failed  of  its  youthful  ideal.  And  I  am 
by  no  means  sure  that  my  rival,  Mr.  Ashly,  might  not 
develop  so  as  to  become  even  the  romantic  ideal  of  Miss 
Sybil's  maturer  fancy." 


2 '  I  PAUL       FANE. 

"  What — is  there  a  wealthy  lover  in  waiting  for  her  ?" 
inquired  the  princess,  to  whom  this  part  of  the  argument 
was  new. 

Paul  gave  the  history  of  the  rivalry  at  the  birthday 
breakfast  (narrated  in  a  previous  chapter),  but  without 
confessing  fully  to  the  motive  which  had  prompted  his 
own  successful  playing  of  the  lover. 

"Pardon  me,"  said  his  friend  (as  he  concluded  with 
the  account  of  Mr.  Ashly's  appreciation  of  the  portrait), 
"  pardon  me,  my  dear  Mr.  Fane,  but  you  seem  to  me, 
now,  to  have  incurred  a  responsibility  I  had  not  before 
seen.  With  so  intentional  a  winning  for  yourself  of  the 
young  lady's  preference,  especially  as  it  amounted  to  the 
shutting  off  of  another  lover,  you  are  bound  not  to  dis 
appoint  that  preference,  should  it  remain  constant  to 
you." 

"  But  suppose  the  displaced  lover  could  be  reinstated  ?" 
replied  Paul,  somewhat  perplexed,  but  giving  voice  to  his 
secret  hope  of  repairing  his  wrong  to  Mr.  Ashly. 

"  Ah !  there  you  express  what  offers  a  loophole  of 
escape  for  you,"  assented  his  reproving  listener ;  "  though 
young  ladies'  hearts  are  not  very  transferable  commodities, 
especially  by  the  holders  themselves.  I  will  not  ask  how 
you  propose  to  reinstate  Mr.  Ashly,  for  that,  at  least,  must 
be  a  very  delicate  management  of  your  secrets  as  a  lover  ; 
but  (if  you  will  excuse  a  woman's  curiosity)  I  should  like 


PAUL     FANE.  265 

to  get  some  clear  idea  of  the  greater  certainty  of  happi 
ness  which  you  are  promising  yourself  from  this  better 
love  in  the  background." 

Paul  smiled,  and  balanced  his  pencil  upon  his  finger  for 
a  moment  or  two  of  silence. 

"  I  have  had,"  he  said  at  last,  "  what  most  lovers  have 
not — a  fair  trial  of  my  promised  happiness.  Mary  Even- 
den  was  brought  up  with  me  as  a  sister,  and  has  shown, 
by  years  of  constancy,  her  appreciation  of  the  inner  nature 
for  which  I  desire  to  be  loved." 

"  And  were  you  s'ure,  always,  of  the  secret  spring  of  her 
sympathy  with  you  ?  Might  it  not  have  been  an  instinctive 
natural  affection,  to  which  you  yourself  gave  the  name  you 
wished  it  to  bear  ?  How  sure  are  you  that  it  was  wholly 
intellectual  ?"  questioned  the  princess. 

Paul  pressed  his  hand  upon  his  eyes,  and  forced  back  all 
his  memory  upon  the  days  in  his  hidden  studio  at  home. 

"  It  may  be  an  abstraction  of  a  somewhat  visionary  boy 
hood,"  he  thoughtfully  went  on  to  say,  "but,  to  me  the 
most  dream-craved  sweetness  of  love,  as  well  as  its  coldly 
measured  best  dignity  and  elevation,  consists  in  its  being 
inspired  by  the  qualities  of  the  mind  only.  Perhaps  there 
is  a  refinement  of  vanity  in  not  being  willing  to  be  admired 
for  what  any  one  else  can  do  as  well.  I  certainly  could 
never  feel  a  value  for  interest  I  had  awakened  merely  by 
my  manners  or  flatteries,  or  by  the  mere  animal  magnetism 


2C6  PAUL     FANE. 

of  youth  and  unexplained  sympathies.  And,  in  Mary 
Evenden's  difference,  in  this  respect,  from  all  others  who 
were  partial  or  kind  to  me — the  difference  which  was  the 
secret  of  her  enduring  fascination — I  could  not  have  been 
mistaken,  I  think." 

"  Yet  lovers  are  but  poor  anatomists  of  their  own  hap 
piness,"  still  objected  the  princess. 

"  It  was  the  reasonableness  of  my  happiness  which  made 
part  of  its  charm,"  Paul  pursued  his  confession  by  insist 
ing.  "  There  was  no  intoxication  of  the  fancy — no  effer 
vescence  of  feeling,  the  sparkle  of  which  was  lost  in  calmer 
hours.  It  was  gentle  and  well-considered  attention,  given 
to  that  which  was  noblest  and  purest  in  my  nature. 
Every  thought  was  recognized  as  it  fell  from  the  lips, 
every  expression  as  it  breathed  through  the  features,  every 
glearn  of  inspired  work  as  it  guided  the  pencil.  And  oh ! 
who  can  describe  the  luxury  of  this  intimate  companion 
ship  of  appreciation?  Who  (since,  as  your  highness 
asserted  just  now,  there  may  be  two  persons  in  one)  can 
weigh,  for  an  instant,  the  love  for  the  mortal  against  that 
for  the  immortal — the  love  for  grace  and  personal  agreea- 
bleness  that  lessen  and  disappear  as  life  gets  on,  against 
that  for  talent  and  intellectual  acquirement,  which,  on  the 
contrary,  while  life  lasts,  continue  to  ripen  and  grow  more 
admirable  ?" 

"A  beautiful  picture,"  said  the  princess,  with  a  smile, 


PAUL     FANE.  267 

"  and,  I  have  no  doubt,  faithfully  descriptive  of  the  inti 
macy  you  so  tenderly  remember.  But  pray  do  not  forget 
that  the  '  mortal '  is  slighted  while  the  *  immortal '  is  thus 
exclusively  attended  to,  and  that  Nature  does  not  long 
permit  such  partialities  without  a  murmur.  Intimate  as 
you  were,  it  is  my  impression  that  there  is  a  Miss  Evenden 
and  a  Mr.  Fane  who  are  yet  to  make  each  other's  acquaint 
ance.  The  chrysalis  which  you  have  both  passed  through, 
since  your  separation,  will  present  each  a  stranger  to  the 
other — two  strangers  who  may,  very  possibly,  not  be  con 
tent  with  the  old  love  which  is  not  altogether  suited  to 
their  new  tastes." 

Paul  shook  his  head  incredulously,  while  he  smiled  at 
the  princess's  scepticism  of  what,  to  him,  was  like  a 
religion. 

"You  must  excuse  me,"  she  continued  (moulding  indo 
lently  upon  her  model  as  she  gave  vent  to  her  speculations 
on  the  problem  he  had  submitted  to  her),  "  but  I  think 
your  coming  renewal  of  intimacy,  with  your  old  playmate, 
a  little  critical.  I  am  not  certain  that  you  would  become 
lovers  again,  even  if  your  proposed  disentanglement  from 
Miss  Paleford  had  left  you  quite  free  to  look  forward  to  it. 
Commencing  again,  from  habit,  with  the  exchange  of 
merely  intellectual  sympathies,  there  would  be,  on  both 
sides,  insufficiency  and  disappointment.  You  are,  both  of 
you,  of  the  higher  class  of  natures  which  require  love  in 


268  PAUL     FANE. 

all  its  completeness — demanding  fullness  of  acknowledg 
ment  of  all  qualities,  personal  and  intellectual,  and  entire- 
ness  of  appreciation  and  admiration." 

"Love  not  often  found,"  said  Paul,  musingly,  as  he 
strove  to  lay  aside  his  own  theory  and  adopt,  for  the  sake 
of  frank  argument,  that  of  his  companion. 

"  No ! — you  would  scarce  more  than  complete  such  an 
ideal  lady-love  by  a  pouring  of  both  these  young  hearts — 
Sybil's  and  Mary's — into  one.  I  suppose,  in  fact "  (con 
tinued  the  still  busy  sculptress,  with  an  arch  look  from 
under  her  hat),  "  that  the  two  might  love  on — each  having 
the  monopoly  of  all  she  admires  in  you,  without  inter 
ference  with  the  other." 

"Ah,  pray  do  not  make  me  out  a  flirt  and  vaurien,  even 
in  theory!"  interrupted  Paul,  deprccatingly. 

"  Your  alarm  is  needless,"  said  the  princess,  "  for  my 
theory  was  both  carelessly  and  incorrectly  stated.  It  need 
not  be  l  love  '  by  which  you  should  thus  accept  the  sym 
pathy  and  reciprocity  of  two  natures.  Or,  if  you  accept 
love  from  the  one  heart,  it  would  show  very  little  self-coii- 
trol  or  elevation  of  nature  if  there  could  not  be  friendship 
— at  least  unexceptionable7  pure — with  the  other.  Remem 
ber  I  am  reasoning  in  the  dark  as  to  your  own  particular 
position,  not  having  seen  Mary  Evenden,  and  not  knowing 
whether  she  is  in  herself  one  of  these  rare  completenesses 
— responsive  to  all  that  requires  sympathy,  either  in  the 


PAUL     FANE.  269 

intellect  or  the  man ;  but,  in  most  instances  that  have 
come  to  my  knowledge,  such  has  not  been  the  happy  des 
tiny  of  genius.  Its  two-fold  nature  has  not  often  found, 
in  one  heart  and  mind,  all  its  needs  of  recognition  and 
reply." 

"  You  make  genius  out  to  be  naturally  the  most  un 
happy  of  lovers,"  said  Paul,  beginning  to  be  amused  with 
the  generalizing  that  had  digressed  from  his  own  more 
special  troubles. 

"  Perhaps  so,"  continued  the  fair  disputant,  after  a 
moment's  pause ;  "  and  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  genius 
could  (better  than  other  natures,  and  certainly  better  for 
itself),  do  without  what  is  called  'love,'  altogether.  The 
main  portions  of  the  sympathy  it  needs  might  be  found  in 
intimacies  which  could  correctly  and  irreproachably  be 
called  '  friendships  ;'  and  its  motives  and  conduct  are 
oftenest  misunderstood,  because  it  requires,  from  these 
friendships,  a  tenderness  of  mental  sympathy  which  seems, 
to  common  observers,  possible  only  with  love.  I  do  not 
think  the  most  intimate  friends  of  men  of  genius  need  to 
be  of  the  opposite  sex.  It  is  only  because  women's  minds 
are  more  delicate  and  impressible,  that  it  commonly  is  so. 
But,  by  either  wholly  ignoring  love  (or  classing  it  among 
the  instincts  that  are  kept  subdued  and  out  of  sight)  while 
the  sympathies  of  the  mind  are  declared  to  be  of  no  sex, 
but  to  have  full  and  free  liberty  to  choose  and  act  without 


270  PAUL    FANE. 

reproach,  the  intellectual  world  would  breathe  its  more 
native  and  proper  element." 

"Of  which  higher  philosophy  you,  yourself,  my  dear 
princess,"  said  Paul,  with  a  low  inclination  of  his  head, 
"  are  a  charming  proof  and  illustration.  Yet  I  wish,  out 
of  your  beautiful  speculations,  I  could  draw  some  definite 
advice  as  to  my  best  course  of  conduct  to-morrow.  Shall 
I  leave  Florence  without  awaiting  the  coming  of  Mary 
Evenden  (in  obedience  to  the  warning  which  my  mother's 
letter  intended  to  give  me),  not  seeing  her  while  my  honor 
is  involved  to  give  preference  to  another — or  would  there 
be  more  rudeness  than  tenderness  of  consideration  in  so 
manifest  an  avoidance,  and,  should  I  stay,  therefore,  and 
trust  to  the  chances  of  open  extrication  from  my  dilemma?" 

"  Very  fairly  stated,"  said  the  princess ;  "  and  I  will 
take  the  responsibility  of  giving  a  definite  answer.  Stay 
in  Florence !  See  Mary  Evenden  to-morrow  !  But,  under 
stand  me,  I  am  am  not  speaking  thus  venturesomely  with 
out  some  hope  of  assisting  you.  With  your  leave,  I  will 
myself  become  your  rival,  not  as  a  lover,  but  (according  to 
my  theory  just  laid  down)  as  &  friend.  To  leave  her  alone 
with  you,  a  stranger  in  Florence,  with  only  your  attend 
ance  and  society,  would  make,  whatever  risk  there  is,  more 
imminent,  to  say  the  least.  But  you  say  she  is  an  artist, 
as  well  as  ourselves.  Bring  her  to  my  studio,  and  let  me 
make  a  sister-artist's  appeal  to  her  ready  sympathies !  I 


PAUL     FANE.  271 

can  thus  occupy  somewhat  —  perhaps  engross,  almost 
wholly — her  attention  and  enthusiasm.  If  I  interest  her, 
as  I  thus  hope  to  do,  you  will  be  left  to  yourself  for  a 
while,  and  the  opportunity  which  you  wish  is  secured  to 
you,  is  it  not  ?" 

There  was  generous  and  kindly  considerateness,  as  well 
as  wisdom,  in  this  thought  of  the  princess's ;  and  Paul  took 
his  leave,  after  gratefully  accepting  both  the  advice  and  its 
proffered  aid.  And  to  this  eventful  morrow  he  looked  for 
ward,  for  the  remainder  of  the  day,  with  thoughts  of  far 
less  sadness  and  perplexity  than  before. 


CHAPTER  XXIY. 

IT  was  not  for  several  days,  after  the  interview  described 
in  the  last  chapter,  that  Paul  received,  from  one  of  the 
hotels  upon  the  Arno,  the  expected  message,  announcing 
the  arrival  of  his  friends.  The  death  of  Mrs.  Paleford 
had  meantime  occurred,  as  anticipated  ;  and,  with  the 
proffer  of  aid  and  sympathy  which  his  intimacy  with 
the  family  called  upon  him  to  make — his  reception  of 
them  on  their  return  with  the  body  to  Florence,  and  his 
almost  filial  share  in  the  melancholy  arrangements  and 


272  PAULFANE. 

last  offices  to  the  dead — tlie  delay  and  its  leisure  had 
been  timely,  and  the  interval  had  been  sufficiently  en 
grossed  with  thought  and  feeling.  He  had  followed  the 
lost  mother  to  the  grave  with  an  emotion  which  the  two 
chief  mourners  (ignorant  of  the  dying  bequest  that  was 
now  so  heavy  on  his  heart)  could  but  little  understand. 

Like  the  parting  of  a  dark  cloud,  however,  was  the 
sudden  gleam  of  light  into  his  mind  with  the  news 
that  Mary  Evenden  had  come ;  and  it  was  not  difficult 
for  one  of  his  elastic  temperament  to  throw  all  sad 
thoughts  behind  him  as  he  hurried  rapidly  to  the  hotel 
where  he  was  to  see,  once  more,  the  face  that  had  been 
dearest  to  him  through  years  of  romantic  boyhood.  It 
was  not  in  Florence  that  he  walked,  as  he  made  his 
way  eagerly  through  the  crowd.  A  memory  of  home 
glowed  like  a  halo  around  him,  shutting  out  all  that 
was  not  filled  with  the  presence  of  his  mother's  voice  and 
smile. 

On  arriving  at  the  hotel,  Paul  impatiently  followed 
the  waiter  by  whom  he  sent  up  his  name,  and  a  glimpse 
through  the  opening  door  showing  him  the  well-known 
features  of  Mrs.  Cleverly,  he  entered  at  the  same  moment 
that  he  was  announced.  A  rush  forward,  and  a  kiss  of 
respectful  tenderness  upon  the  held-out  hand  of  the  dear 
and  kind  matron,  and  he  turned  hurriedly  to  take  Mary 
like  a  sister  to  his  arms — but  the  movement  was  suddenly 


PAUL    FANE.  273 

paralysed,  and,  with  an  instant's  hesitation,  a  bow  of 
ceremony  took  the  place  of  the  intended  caress !  There 
were  two  ladies  beside  his  old  friend  at  the  breakfast- 
table — one  of  them  Mary,  but  the  other  the  Miss  Ashly 
of  his  long-cherished  dread — the  cold-eyed  English  girl 
who  had  first  given  the  alarm  to  his  boyish  pride  of 
nature ! 

"  You  remember  Miss  Ashly,  whom  you  met  at  my 
house?"  said  Mrs.  Cleverly,  thinking  it  necessary  to  re- 
introduce  Paul,  as  she  saw  his  hesitation. 

He  relinquished  the  warm  pressure  of  Mary's  hand 
which  he  now  held  in  his  own,  and  rery  formally  re 
newed  his  salutation  to  the  politely  undisturbed  lady. 
With  the  icy  bar  which  her  presence  had  so  abruptly 
put  upon  his  overflowing  heart,  conversation,  even  with 
Mary,  was  now  stiffened  to  the  formalities  of  courtesy. 

Mrs.  Cleverly,  during  her  short  stay  in  London  (it  was 
afterwards  explained  to  Paul)  had  fallen  in  with  her  old 
friends  the  Ashlys,  and,  with  the  pleasant  accounts  which 
they  had  been  lately  receiving  from  Florence,  Miss  Mil 
dred  expressed  a  desire  to  put  herself  under  the  convoy 
of  the  American  party  and  join  her  aunt  in  Italy — a 
proposition,  of  course,  very  readily  acceded  to.  In  their 
letters  written  on  the  way,  this  addition  to  their  company 
had  not  been  mentioned,  however ;  and  thus,  accidentally 
and  without  warning,  Mary  had  brought  with  her  the  verj 


2*74  PAUL     FANE. 

barrier  which  mysteriously  divided  her  from  Paul  at  his 
departure  for  Europe ! 

Paul,  when  his  first  greetings  were  over,  made  a  fourth 
at  the  table ;  but,  in  spite  of  the  glow  of  affectionate 
welcome  at  his  heart,  longing  for  expression,  he  was 
conscious  of  an  irresistible  influence  upon  his  manners. 
He  was  the  polished  and  indifferent  attache,  even  in 
questioning  and  listening  to  Mary  Evenden  alone.  There 
was  a  presence  at  the  table  which  no  one  else  felt  or 
understood,  and  to  which  he  had  been  mysteriously  sub 
ject,  before,  and  was  now  subject,  again. 

Miss  Ashly  had  very  quietly  confessed  to  not  remem 
bering  having  met  Mr.  Fane ;  and  to  her,  for  the  first 
half  hour,  he  was  evidently  but  a  stranger — an  American 
gentleman  with  whom  she  had  no  topic  in  common — 
though  one  to  whom  she  was  bound  to  be  civil,  from, 
his  intimacy  with  her  friends.  She  sat,  half-absently, 
pushing  the  crumbs  about  in  her  plate,  with  a  fork  held 
daintily  in  her  taper  fingers,  and  giving  but  limited 
attention  to  the  exchange  of  home  news  and  personal 
inquiry  going  on  around  her.  At  one  of  the  rotations 
of  politeness,  however,  by  which  it  became  due  to  the 
third  lady  that  some  remark  should  be  addressed  to  her 
also,  Paul  alluded  to  the  Palefords,  and  their  bereave 
ment. 

"  Ah,  you  know  the  Palefords  2"  she  said,  with  her  fork 


PAUL    FANE.  275 

held  still,  for  a  moment,  while  she  opened  those  large  grey 
eyes  upon  the  stranger. 

The  mention  of  the  mourning  scenes  in  which  he  had 
taken  part  led  to  other  matters  in  connection  with  the 
subject,  and  it  soon  became  evident  to  Miss  Ashly  that 
Mr.  Fane  had  a  very  minute  intimacy  of  knowledge  as 
to  her  old  friends  and  their  circumstances.  Paul  could 
not  but  notice,  however,  as  he  made  some  reference  to 
the  celebration  of  the  birth-day,  that  his  listener's  eager 
ness  to  hear  something  of  her  brother's  share  in  that 
festivity  became  very  keen,  and  that  her  interest  in 
Sybil  was  of  an  affectionate  tenderness  which  betrayed, 
to  his  sharpened  perception,  a  sympathy  in  the  secret 
of  a  love.  He  was  very  sure,  from  an  incidental  remark 
or  two,  that  young  Ashly  had  taken  his  sister  into  his 
confidence,  and  it  was  encouraging  to  the  hopes  of  Paul 
for  the  brother's  success,  that  there  had  evidently  been 
no  mention  to  her  of  himself,  the  rival  of  that  day. 
With  the  account  of  the  entertainments  at  the  English 
embassy,  and  the  many  particulars  relative  to  Colonel 
Paleford,  and  to  her  brother's  gaieties  in  Florence,  it 
grew  clearer  every  moment  that  the  points  of  mutual 
interest  between  Miss  Mildred  and  Mr.  Fane  were  more 
numerous  than  was  at  first  anticipated ;  and  the  conversa 
tion  at  the  breakfast-table,  at  last,  was  entirely  given  over 
to  these  two,  so  much  the  least  acquainted. 


276  P  A  U  L      F  A  N  E. 

"Oh,  then,  you  know  my  Aunt  Winnie?"  exclaimed 
Miss  Ashly,  once  more  with  pleased  surprise,  as  some 
reference  was  made  to  the  Palefords'  expectation  of  seeing 
her,  now  that  they  were  once  more  at  Casa  G . 

There  was  a  little  gratification  of  a  love  of  mischief  in 
the  grave  quietness  with  which  Paul  showed  his  confi 
dential  knowledge  of  Miss  Winifred — her  plans  of  travel, 
her  manner  of  passing  her  time,  her  recent  impressions 
of  Italy,  her  newest  likings  and  dislikings,  health,  spirits, 
and  other  matters  upon  which  her  habitually  reserved 
letters  left  her  relatives  rather  annoy ingly  in  the  dark. 
That  this  American  friend  of  Mrs.  Cleverly's  knew  her 
aunt  more  intimately  than  any  gentleman  of  their  ac 
quaintance  at  home,  and  that  she  had  talked  familiarly 
to  him  of  herself,  in  a  way  quite  unprecedented  for  her 
usual  habits  as  known  to  her  family,  became  gradually 
apparent  to  the  astonished  niece.  The  climax  was 
d,  however,  by  the  reply  to  a  question  as  to  her 
probable  arrival  in  Florence. 

"  By  her  last  letter  to  me,"  said  Paul,  "  I  am  to  expect 
her  a  week  from  to-day  j  and,  by  the  way,  I  was  to  en^ago 
for  her  the  very  apartments  into  which  the  landlord  hab 
cnanced  to  put  you.  She  occupied  them  when  hero 
before." 

Miss  Ashly  sat  silent  for  a  moment  or  two,  manifestly 


PAUL    FANE.  2Y7 

embarrassed  how  to  suit  her  manner  to  one  who  was  so 
much  less  a  stranger  than  she  had  thought  him. 

"Pardon  me,  Mr.  Fane!"  she  said,  at  last,  turning  to 
him  with  a  smile  and  very  frank  opening  of  her  large 
calm  eyes ;  "  you  seem  to  know  everything — will  you 
allow  me  to  ask  you  one  more  question?  My  brother, 
when  here,  saw  a  portrait  of  Miss  Paleford  with  which 
he  was  very  much  delighted — so  delighted,  in  fact,  that 
he  wants  pictures  of  us  all  by  the  same  hand.  My  aunt, 
I  believe,  has  already  sat  to  him,  and  I  have  half  promised, 
if  I  like  hers,  to  sit  to  him  myself.  Do  you  know  this 
artist?" 

Paul  did  not  feel  quite  ready  to  give  up  the  more 
agreeable  indefiniteness  of  his  position  as  a  chance  ac 
quaintance  of  Miss  Ashly's.  To  confess  himself  the  artist 
would  give  him  a  new  part  to  play,  and  one  for  which  he 
felt  that  he  required  a  little  preparation. 

"  I  know  him  very  well,"  he  said,  rising  from  the  table, 
after  an  instant's  hesitation,  "  and  I  am  quite  sure,  now  I 
think  of  it,  that  he  would  like,  as  soon  as  possible,  to  have 
your  opinion  of  that  still  unfinished  portrait  of  your  aunt. 
His  studio  is  near  by,  and,  if  you  will  allow  me,  I  will  send 
over  and  get  it." 

Paul  rang  for  a  servant,  and,  writing  a  line  to  Blivins 
upon  a  card,  dispatched  him  for  the  crayon — perse veringly 
addressing  his  conversation  to  his  American  friends,  during 


278  PAUL    FANE. 

the  man's  absence,  so  as  not  to  be  embarrassed  with  further 
questions  as  to  the  unknown  painter. 

The  messenger  reappeared  in  a  few  minutes. 

"  You  will  excuse  me,"  said  Paul,  closing  all  except  one 
shutter,  "  if,  as  an  amateur  artist  myself,  I  do  my  friend 
the  justice  to  arrange  the  windows  artistically.  The  draw 
ing  was  made  in  this  room,  and  we  can  give  it  its  original 
light,  which  is  a  great  advantage." 

"  What,  were  you  present,  then,  at  my  aunt's  sittings  ? " 
exclaimed,  with  still  another  surprise,  the  puzzled  English 
girl. 

"  Yes ;  and  I  chanced  to  be  consulted  as  to  the  pose  of 
the  head,"  Paul  added,  quietly,  "  so  I  can  arrange  it  for 
you  with  great  precision  !" 

And,  setting  n  chair  on  the  spot  where,  a  few  days  before, 
had  stood  his  easel,  he  placed  the  crayon  in  the  exact  light 
in  which  it  had  been  drawn. 

Miss  Ashly  looked  at  rt,  steadily  and  in  silence.  It 
was  Paul's  policy,  of  course,  to  show  no  more  than  a  third 
person's  natural  desire  for  the  expression  of  her  opinion, 
but  it  was  with  difficulty  he  could  now  conceal  his  eager 
ness  of  curiosity. 

"  It  is  a  very  graceful  drawing,"  said  Mary,  giving  it, 
evidently,  very  slight  attention. 

"  Quite  a  lady-1-ike  person,"  said  Mrs.  Cleverly. 

Paul  did  not  immediately  remember  that  the  picture 


PAUL      FANE.  279 

was  to  impress  mainly  by  the  character  of  its  resemblance 
to  the  original,  and  that  his  friends,  having  never  seen 
Miss  Winifred  Ashly,  could  be  judges  only  of  its  mechani 
cal  execution.  lie  felt,  somehow,  a  resentment  at  what 
seemed  to  him  the  inappreciative  coldness  of  Mary's 
remark. 

"  I  am  sorry  my  father  is  not  here  to  see  this,"  com 
menced  Miss  Ashly,  at  last,  in  a  kind  of  soliloquy,  as  she 
leaned  over  the  back  of  a  chair,  gazing  at  the  picture ; 
"  the  ideal  of  our  family  physiognomy  is  so  admirably 
expressed ! " 

"  But  what  do  you  think  of  it  as  a  likeness  ?"  Paul 
asked,  merely  to  cover,  by  an  indifferent  question,  his 
eagerness  to  hear  her  talk  more  upon  the  subject. 

"  Why,  it  is  my  aunt,  certainly !"  she  replied,  hesitat 
ingly  ;  "  but,"  she  continued,  presently,  with  a  smile,  "  it  is 
more  as  I  should  expect  her  to  look,  in  Heaven,  here 
after,  than  as  she  seems  to  common  eyes  in  our  present 
world." 

"  So  flattered,  do  you  think  T  said  Paul. 

"  Not  at  all  untruly  flattered,"  proceeded  Miss  Ashly, 
seeing,  evidently,  with  very  much  her  brother's  eyes,  and 
hitting,  by  this  discriminating  remark,  the  very  edge  of 
Paul's  demand  for  appreciation  of  his  picture  ;  "  nothing  is 
added  to  the  original  elements  of  the  expression.  It  is 
truthfully,  her  face — wonderfully  so — but,  with  an  inspired 


280  PAUL    FANE. 

subtlety  of  art,  heightened  and  spiritualized.  I  have  seen 
my  aunt  look  as  this  does,  when  a  fine  passage  of  poetry 
had  been  read  to  her,  or  when  listening  to  the,  voluntary  in 
church,  or  even  when  improvising  upon  the  piano,  by  her 
self;  but  it  is  a  rare  look,  and  one  a  stranger  is  not  at  all 
likely  to  see.  How  this  charming  artist  ever  detected  it, 
is  one  marvel  to  me,  and  it  is  a  still  greater  marvel  how 
he  had  the  skill  to  arrest  and  embody  anything  so  momen 
tary  and  evanescent." 

That  such  delicious  praise  could  be  uttered  by  the  lips 
he  saw  before  him,  was  to  Paul  a  surprise  for  which  he 
could  scarce  credit  his  'senses !  The  indifference — almost 
the  scorn — of  her  whom  he  had  felt  to  be  the  coldest  and 
proudest  of  her  sex,  changed  to  the  very  elixir  of  flattering 
appreciation!  He  looked  at  Miss  Ashly.  The  calm,  grey 
eye,  which  had  seemed  so  icy  and  distant,  was  now  fixed 
softly  and  admiringly  on  his  work — the  very  arch  of  pride 
in  that  mouth  so  haughtily  immovable  was  unbent  to  an 
expression  of  susceptibility  and  sweetness. 

"  I  have  seen  your  brother's  face  when  it  had  somewhat 
of  the  same  character,"  said  Paul,  so  bewildered  that  he 
scarce  knew  what  he  uttered. 

Miss  Ashly  stepped  into  her  room,  and  returned  in  a 
moment  with  a  miniature. 

"  This,"  she  said,  opening  and  handing  it  to  Paul,  "  was 
taken  by  one  of  the  first  miniature  painters  of  Paris,  and 


PAULFANE.  281 

we  have  thought  it  a  good  likeness  of  my  brother.  Yet,  a 
comparison  of  it,  merely  as  a  conception  of  character,  with 
that  of  my  aunt,  shows  the  difference  which  I  feel  to  exist 
between  the  two  artists.  One  was  a  good  workman,  and 
painted  what  he  saw — the  other  was  an  inspired  reader  of 
'the  soul." 

But  a  sudden  thought  entered  Paul's  brain,  as  he  heard 
these  charming  words,  holding  the  miniature  in  his  hand. 

"  Could  you  spare  this  little  -work  of  art,"  he  asked, 
"  for  the  -few  days  of  your  proposed  visit  to  the  Palefords  ? 
The  contrast  you  have  just  drawn  would  interest  the 
painter  of  the  other  picture,  and  I  should  like  " — 

"  Oh  certainly,  certainly !"  she  interrupted  Paul  by 
exclaiming ;  "  pray  take  it  to  him,  if  you  please,  for  it  will 
show  him  exactly  what  I  do  not  want,  in  his  picture  of 
me.  In  my  dull  face  "  (she  continued,  smiling)  "  he  mighi 
not  find  it  so  easy  to  overcome  the  literalness  of  the 
Ashly  features." 

"  Then  you  will  sit  to  him  ?"  echoed  Paul. 

"  I  should  lose  an  invaluable  opportunity,  if  I  did  not," 
she  replied  (as  Mrs.  Cleverly  called  to  her  to  get  ready  for 
some  shopping  they  were  to  do  together  before  sight 
seeing),  "  and,  if  you  please,  Mr.  Fane,  I  will  trouble  you, 
further,  with  the  arrangement  of  this  matter.  If  you  will 
express  to  him  how  delighted  I  am  with  rny  aunt's  por 
trait,  and  say  that  I  will  hold  myself  ready  to  sit  at  any 


282  PAUL     FANE. 

time  that  suits  his  convenience,  after  my  return  from  Colo 
nel  Paleford's,  I  will  really  be  very  much  obliged  to 
you." 

Enchanted  as  he  was  with  his  success,  thus  far,  Paul 
buried  his  eyes  in  the  miniature  as  the  ladies  left  the 
room — his  genius  fully  at  work  already  on  the  conception 
with  which  it  had  inspired  him.  Guided  by  this  faithful 
copy  of  the  features,  and  remembering  the  expression  of 
young  Ashly's  face  as  he  saw  him  when  he  was  gazing  on 
the  portrait  of  Sybil,  he  felt  that  lie  could  repeat,  in  a 
sketch  drawn  even  without  the  original,  the  triumph  he 
had  achieved  in  the  picture  of  Miss  Winifred.  He  could 
express  with  his  pencil  (what  he  could  not  in  words)  his 
deeper  reading  of  the  character  of  Sybil's  lover,  and,  by 
presenting  this  to  her,  he  could,  perhaps,  forward  his 
rival's  suit,  and,  at  the  same  time,  do  something  toward  the 
reparation  which  he  owed  him.  A  very  closely  locked 
door  of-  his  tangled  destiny  seemed  opening  with  this  new 
opportunity. 

"  Shall  we  take  a  walk  while  they  are  gone  !"  suddenly 
broke  in  a  gentle  voice  upon  his  reverie. 

The  color  flushed  into  Paul's  face  as  he  remembered 
that  he  was  alone  with  Mary — for  the  first  time  since  so 
Jong  a  parting,  and  requiring  to  be  reminded  of  it ! — and 
with  a  confused  vehemence,  expressing  rather  more  willing 
ness  than  was  quite  natural,  he  sprang  to  his  feet  with  an 


P  A  U  L      F  A  N  E.  283 

assent.  The  Ducal  Gardens  were  close  by — they  had  the 
morning  before  them — it  would  be  very  delightful — would 
Mary  get  her  bonnet  at  once  and  come  out  in  the  noon 
sun,  so  pleasant  at  that  time  of  year ! 

But,  over  this  confidential  walk  in  the  most  beautiful 
garden-wilderness  of  the  world — a  first  unrestrained  inter 
view,  and  between  two  so  bound,  by  many  a  reason,  to  be, 
then  and  thus,  happier  than  in  their  whole  lifetime  before 
• — there  hung,  somehow,  an  insurmountable  restraint ! 
Conversation,  of  course,  was  abundant  enough,  with  the 
inquiries  that  each  had  to  make.  Of  mere  information  to 
exchange,  there  was  quite  sufficient  to  occupy  the  time — 
precluding,  at  least,  the  risk  against  which  was  given  the 
warning  of  his  mother's  letter — but,  over  and  above  the 
choice  of  topics,  and  with  no  approach  to  love-making  any 
way  likely  or  possible,  there  was  still  room  for  a  sympathy 
of  the  most  tender  confidingness  and  frankness ;  and  this, 
inexplicably  and  mortifyingly,  Paul  felt  to  be  wanting ! 

One  vampire  thought  after  another  was  struggled  with, 
in  the  voiceless  background  of  his  mind,  during  that 
haunted  walk.  The  chance  disparagement  of  the  work  of 
his  pencil  by  Mary,  while  another  had  so  keenly  appre 
ciated  it — the  presence  of  Miss  Ashly  with  its  unrevealable 
secret  of  influence — the  solemn  bond  resting  upon  him 
with  the  dying  words  of  Sybil's  mother,  and  binding  him 
not  to  love  the  unsuspecting  creature  at  his  side — the 


284  PAUL     FANE. 

plot,  which  he  had  framed  with  the  princess  to  prolong  or 
secure  her  sisterly  indifference,  and  the  policy  that  would 
now  be  necessary  for  his  own  conduct,  with  these  sacred 
and  opposing  claims  calling  equally  upon  his  most  delicate 
honor — these  were  phantoms  present  at  his  reunion  with 
Mary,  and  not  the  less  chilling  in  their  influence  upon  the 
happiness  of  the  hour,  because  her  share  in  them  must  be 
untold.  He  felt  reproached  by  every  look  from  her  soft 
eyes.  In  spite  of  every  effort,  he  was  conscious  that  he 
seemed,  to  her,  abrupt  and  unlike  himself.  And,  at  her 
first  expression  of  fatigue  he  was  relieved,  to  turn  once 
more  toward  the  streets,  Tfhere  the  novel  objects  of  a 
strange  city  would  preclude  thought — leaving,  presently, 
at  her  room-door,  the  one  whom,  but  a  few  hours  before, 
he  would  have  said  he  most  wished  to  see,  of  all  persons 
in  the  world,  and  (to  his  own  astonishment  as  he  realized 
it),  rejoicing  to  be  alone. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

MRS.  CLEVERLY  had  been  several  days  in  Florence ; 
and,  in  the  drawing-room  of  the  suite  of  furnished  apart 
ments  which  she  had  taken  for  the  season,  were  collected 
four  or  five  persons,  who,  though  they  had  seemed  to 
come  very  naturally  together,  were  of  very  varied  char 
acter  and  sympathies.  It  was  the  evening  of  the  court 
reception  and  ball.  Paul's  friend  the  princess  had  kindly 
offered  to  present  his  two  countrywomen,  while  the  En 
glish  minister  was  to  present  Miss  Ashly ;  and  they  were 
all  here  assembled,  as  the  most  convenient  point  of  reunion, 
and  were  to  have  a  cup  of  tea  together  before  starting  for 
the  palace. 

There  was  a  restraint  on  the  spirits  of  the  company. 
The  stiffness  of  the  court  costumes,  seeming  so  out  of 
place  around  a  private  tea-table,  had  something  to  do 
with  it — the  English  minister  and  Paul,  of  course,  in 
their  full  diplomatic  uniforms,  and  Mrs.  Cleverly  and 
the  princess  in  an  array  of  ornament  unusual  even  for 

10  285 


286  PAUL    FANE. 

themselves.  But  Miss  Aslily,  who  was  staying  with  the 
Palefords,  had  been  accompanied  to  town  by  her  friend 
Sybil  (to  pass  the  night  with  her  at  Mrs.  Cleverly's, 

and  take  her  back,  after  the  court-ball,  to  Casa  G ), 

and,  there,  at  the  table,  she  now  sat,  in  her  dress  of  the 
deepest  mourning,  an  unconscious  contrast  of  sadness  that 
was  almost  like  a  reproof  to  the  gay  adornments  around 
her. 

It  was  not  without  some  difficulty  that  Mary  Evenden 
had  been  persuaded  to  make  one  of  the  party,  that  night 
She  had  no  taste  for  gaiety,  particularly  of  the  ceremo 
nious  and  ostentatious  kind,  and  usually  begged  off,  not 
only  from  Mrs.  Cleverly's  acceptances  of  hospitalities,  but 
from  the  operas  and  public  amusements,  in  the  various 
cities  through  which  they  had  passed.  Consistency  was 
one  of  her  leading  traits ;  and,  as  a  humble  clergyman's 
daughter,  she  made  the  choice  always  which  her  fathers 
eye  would  approve — her  natural  taste,  moreover,  being 
almost  exclusively  artistic,  and  nothing  giving  her  pleasure, 
in  the  way  of  amusement,  unless  tributary  to  this.  To  her 
constantly  expressed  wish  that  she  might  be  allowed,  by 
her  friend,  to  be  her  private  companion  only,  taking 
advantage  of  their  stay  in  different  places  to  see  what 
was  collected  of  the  arts  for  study  and  improvement, 
but  otherwise  wholly  unobserved  and  uncared  for,  Mrs. 
Cleverly  was  usually  considerately  yielding — but  of  this 


PAUL    FANE.  287 

court-ball,  in  a  palace  which  was  the  very  sanctuary  of 
Art,  the  good  chaperon  had  made  a  point.  She  was  sure 
Mary  would  be  agreeably  surprised  with  the  splendors  she 
would  see,  and  thank  her  afterwards  for  having  insisted 
upon  her  going. 

Silent  and  ill  at  ease  sat  Mary,  under  that  reluctant 
preparation  for  pleasure,  however.  While  the  restraint, 
upon  the  others  of  the  circle,  merely  made  them  more 
coldly  courteous  and  self-possessed,  it  was,  to  her,  an 
embarrassment  that  amounted  to  an  awkwardness.  She 
held  herself  in  a  constrained  position,  robbed  of  all  her 
natural  grace  by  the  dress  to  which  she  was  so  unac 
customed  ;  and  over  her  features,  in  which  there  was 
usually  so  calm  and  healthful  a  distribution  of  color, 
there  was  now  a  feverish  flush,  confusing  and  obscuring 
altogether  the  intellectual  delicacy  of  the  expression. 
Of  that  spiritual  elevation  of  beauty,  which  Paul  had 
described  so  glowingly  a  few  days  before  to  the  princess, 
and  which  his  imagination  had  kept  so  long,  as  the 
cherished  ideal  by  which  all  others  were  excluded  from 
his  heart,  there  was  now  scarce  a  trace !  Mary  Everiden 
— he  was  mortified  and  irritated  to  see — looked  even 
common-place  and  inferior. 

But,  with  every  effort  to  shut  at  least  the  eyes  of  his 
taste  and  imagination,  it  was  impossible  not  to  see  the 
contrast  that  was  beside  her.  Sybil  Paleford,  from 


288  PAUL     FANE. 

various  incidental  causes,  had  probably  never  before  been 
so  beautiful — certainly,  to  Paul,  had  never  seemed  so 
miraculously  supplied  with  all  he  had  before  thought 
possible  as  heightening  additions  to  her  beauty.  Among 
these  over-gay  costumes,  her  deep  mourning  had,  in  the 
first  place,  a  singularly  marked  impressiveness ;  but,  to 
her  peculiar  character  of  loveliness,  it  was,  in  itself,  of 
all  possible  adornments,  the  most  harmoniously  becoming. 
In  the  two  or  three  happy  combinations  of  costume  and 
expression  which  had,  already,  to  his  artist  eye,  made 
this  marvellously  fair  creature  seem  as  complete  as 
Nature  could  allow  one  mortal  to  be,  there  was  still 
room  for  the  shade  of  thoughtful  sadness,  which  now, 
so  touchingly  and  so  intellectually,  overspread  her  tran 
quillity  of  feature.  It  was  the  charm  (he  could  not  but 
allow)  which  he  had  thought  belonged  alone  to  Mary 
Evenden — the  look  of  the  soul  ever  uppermost,  and  the 
outer  form  and  its  senses  quite  forgot!  Yet  there  they 
now  were — side  by  side — Mary  Evenden  and  Sybil  Pale- 
ford — and  how  could  the  comparison  between  them, 
unfavorable  in  all  points  to  the  one  he  was  most  bound 
to  prefer,  be  denied  or  resisted  ? 

The  carriages  were  announced,  and  leave  was  to  be 
taken  of  the  one  not  included  in  the  gay  party  ;  and  the 
actual  resentment  that  Paul  felt,  at  the  disparagement  con 
tained  in  this  picture  of  contrast,  might  have  shown  itself 


PAULFANE.  289 

in  his  colder  good-night  and  less  cordial  pressure  of  the 
hand — but  there  was  a  keen  observer  on  the  watch.  The 
princess,  his  friend  and  confidant,  had  seen  the  comparison, 
as  well  as  he.  She  knew  that,  with  the  natural  generosity 
of  affection,  he  would  seek  to  compensate  to  Mary  for  the 
chance  wrong  she  was  thus  suffering,  and  that  this,  both 
as  a  tenderness  to  her  and  an  undeserved  slight  to  Sybil, 
would  be  a  hindrance  to  their  well-laid  plans  for  present 
neutrality.  Taking  Paul  by  the  arm,  therefore,  she  became 
an  inevitable  interruption  to  anything  but  a  formal  good 
night,  while  she  prevented  his  very  possible  offering  of 
that  arm  to  Mary — and  (quite  unconscious  of  the  dramatic 
extent  of  the  chaperonage  which  she  was  thus  sharing  with 
the  princess)  Mrs.  Cleverly,  in  an  eventful  minute  or  two 
more,  was  on  her  way  to  the  palace,  with  her  party. 

To  the  imaginative  sculptress,  the  web  of  destiny,  thus 
being  woven,  had  assumed  quite  the  excitement  of  a 
romance  ;  but  her  sympathies  had  changed  sides,  since 
the  morning  over  their  work — when  Paul  had  made  con 
fession  of  his  embarrassments.  She  had,  at  that  time,  felt 
more  interested  for  his  fate  as  connected  with  Miss  Pale- 
fond — thinking  it  the  love  with  which,  on  a  whole,  he  was 
likeliest  to  be  happy.  But,  on  the  first  day  after  the  arri 
val  of  his  friends,  Paul  had  taken  Mary  to  the  studio  of 
*'  Signor  Valerio,"  with  full  initiations  into^the  secrets  of 
the  place ;  and  to  the  spells  of  Art  which  there  had  all 

13 


290  PAUL     FANE. 

their  magic,  and  for  which  her  whole  life  had  so  prepared 
her,  he  had  delivered  her  over — his  own  engrossing  work 
at  the  other  studio  (according  to  the  princess's  plan)  being 
pleaded  as  his  excuse  for  long  mornings  of  absence. 

But  while,  to  the  enthusiastically  artistic  girl,  this  roman 
tic  opportunity  of  play  for  her  leading  passion  was  like  a 
strange  fulfillment  of  a  dream,  Mary  was,  herself,  a  subject 
of  close  study  and  interest  to  her  new  friend.  She  and  the 
princess,  in  fact,  were  curiously  adapted  for  a  sudden  and 
unreserved  intimacy.  One  was  by  nature  what  the  other 
had  become  by  completeness  of  culture — one  had  never 
learned  what  the  other  had  spent  her  life  in  unlearning. 
Both  were  absolutely  unaffected  and  simple — the  link  of 
resemblance  which  thus  united  them,  however,  being  the 
meeting  of  two  extremes.  The  princess,  alone,  of  course 
understood  the  riddle.  To  the  wild-flower  American  girl, 
the  precious  gem  of  character  which  so  imitated  her  own 
was  as  natural  as  herself;  and,  with  the  most  confiding 
unconsciousness,  she  made  herself  as  much  at  home  in  the 
studio  of  the  high-born  sculptress  as  she  would  have  done 
in  Paul's  attic  with  his  mother. 

In  the  exquisite  appreciation  of  her  genius,  by  so  fresh- 
hearted  and  innocent  a  creature,  the  princess  had  found  an 
enchantment  that  was  new,  even  to  herself.  She  had  cul 
tivated,  hitherto,  an  Eden  of  solitude,  on  this  point.  Paul 
was  the  first,  from  her  own  level  of  society,  who  had  beeti 


P  A  U  L      F  A  N  E.  291 

admitted  to  the  full  knowledge  of  her  artistic  life ;  but  (of 
the  other  sex,  and  a  citizen  of  the  gay  world  which  she 
strove  to  shut  out) — he  was,  of  course,  somewhat  to  be 
guarded  against  as  a  flatterer — who  might  turn  into  a 
lover ;  and,  particularly  as  an  admirer  of  her  genius, 
whose  admiration  of  beauty  in  statuary  might  be  colored 
insensibly  by  passion.  But,  of  the  lovely  forms  which  she 
had  created  with  such  skill  of  hand  and  such  patient 
breathing  of  inspired  thought  into  marble,  here  was  what 
seemed  like  an  embodiment  of  the  very  light  of  heaven 
that  fell  upon  them — like  the  very  atmosphere  that  envel 
oped  them,  taking  shape  and  telling  fondly  of  its  privilege 
and  pleasure.  For  truth  and  completeness,  indeed,  Mary's 
impressions  were  just  such  as  light  and  air  might  receive 
and  tell  of.  The  princess  felt  that  never  could  exist,  in 
this  world,  praise  and  appreciation  so  pure  and  precious ! 

Mary's  own  genius  sprang  at  once  to  this  new  field  of 
Art.  Sculpture  had  been  a  study  kept  always,  till  now, 
out  'of  reach  of  her  familiar  knowledge  and  sympathies. 
She  had  thus,  however,  passed  through  its  most  valuable 
novitiate — discipline  of  hand  and  eye  by  practice  with  the 
pencil.  It  was  as  a  scholar  by  whom  all  the  elements  had 
been  well  acquired,  that  she  was  ready  for  this  branch  of 
Art ;  and  the  luxuriousness  of  the  school  in  which  she  now 
found  herself,  the  beauty  of  the  models  witli  which  she  was 
at  liberty  to  pass  her  hours,  and  the  generous  willingness 


292  PAUL    FANE. 

and  courtesy  of  the  accomplished  teacher  at  her  side,  gave 
it  all  an  inexpressible  fascination  for  her.  She  commenced 
her  first  lesson,  in  moulding  the  clay,  on  the  first  day  that 
Paul  left  her  with  "  Signor  Valerio  ; "  and,  in  the  three  or 
four  long  mornings  that  she  had  now  passed  in  an  atmos 
phere  so  exquisitely  to  her  taste,  there  had  been  compressed 
almost  the  happiness  of  a  life-time.  And  it  was  not  strange 
that,  after  one  of  these  mornings  of  unembarrassed  com 
pleteness  of  enjoyment,  the  preparation  for  a  court  ball — 
with  the  stiffness  of  unaccustomed  dress,  the  adornment  by 
borrowed  jewels,  and  the  necessity  (as  she  thought)  of  dif 
ferent  manners  and  conversation — was,  to  Mary,  little  bet 
ter  than  a  painful  bewilderment.  It  had  taken  all  the 
gratitude  that  she  felt  for  Mrs.  Cleverly,  to  yield  to  the 
good  lady's  wishes  by  the  consent  to  go,  but  it  required 
more  nerve  than  she  could  command  to  appear  like  herself 
under  restraints  which,  to  body  and  mind,  were  so  wholly 
distasteful. 

The  arrival  and  entree  had  their  usual  routine  of  awk 
wardness  for  the  inexperienced,  and,  in  looking  on  at  the 
presentation,  Paul  could  not  but  see  a  second  contrast  very 
unfavorable  to  Mary  in  the  quiet  ease  and  self-possessed 
grace  and  dignity  of  Miss  Ashly ;  but,  the  ceremony  over, 
he  had  thought  to  draw  aside  his  embarrassed  playmate 
and  friend,  and,  stationed  at  some  unobserved  point  of 
view,  puss  his  evening  in  diverting  her  thoughts  with 


PAUL    FANE.  293 

comments  on  the  scene  and  its  characters.  He  made  his 
way,  accordingly,  to  the  side  where  the  presented  guests 
fell  back  from  the  immediate  neighborhood  of  the  Grand 
Duke,  and  was  about  offering  his  arm  to  Mary. 

u  Pardon  me !"  said  the  Princess,  stepping  between  them, 
with  a  playful  imitation  of  a  gentleman's  bow,  "  Signer 
Valerio  is  to  have  the  honor !  And,  my  dear  Fane,"  she 
continued,  in  an  under  tone,  as  he  made  room  for  her, 
"  please,  do  not  approach  us  again  till  the  close  of  the  ball. 
I  will  myself  see  that  Miss  Evenden  is  amused,  and,  for 
this  evening,  you  chance  to  be  the  worst  company  she  can. 
have !" 

And,  taking  Mary  off  to  one  of  the  raised  seats  at  the 
end  of  the  long  hall,  she  seated  herself  by  her  side,  and 
began  what  she  understood  better  than  almost  anybody 
else  in  the  world — making  the  most  of  what  enchantments 
came  along  with  music  and  the  hours. 

Paul  discovered,  presently,  after  a  short  fit  of  absent- 
mindedness,  that  he  was  in  very  close  neighborhood  to 
Miss  Ashly.  She  smiled  as  his  eyes  met  hers. 

"  You  look  very  inconsolable,  Mr.  Fane !"  she  said ;  "  but 
the  princess  thinks,  probably,  that  Miss  Evenden  has  come 
abroad  for  something  else  beside  seeing  her  own  country 
men." 

"  Consolable,  I  assure  you,"  said  Paul,  offering  his  arm 
very  promptly,  "  if  I  may  be  allowed  to  plead  that  the 


294  PAUL     FANE. 

same  barrier  does  not  prevent  my  playing  the  happy 
shadow  to  Miss  Ashly." 

"I  was  just  going  to  propose  the  same  thing  to  you,  in 
substance"  she  said,  emphasizing  the  play  of  words  upon 
his  expression — "  that  is  to  say,  I  was  wishing  your  com 
pany,  and  for  more  substantial  reasons  than  either  making 
you  happy  as  a  shadow,  or  securing  attention  to  myself.  I 
wish,  in  fact,  to  interest  you  in  the  happiness  of  a  certain 
third  person." 

Paul  expressed  his  assent  simply  by  a  grave  earnestness 
of  look  and  movement,  as  he  led  the  way  to  a  promenade 
through  the  less  crowded  rooms.  He  was,  for  the  moment, 
uncertain  of  his  position.  Miss  Ashly  had  been  three  or 

four  days  at  Casa  G ,  and  he  did  not  know  how  much 

more  she  had  learned,  in  that  time,  of  his  intimacy  with 
the  family.  He  was  not  even  certain,  as  yet,  whether  they 
had  chanced  to  mention  to  her  what  they  themselves 
knew — who  it  was  that  had  painted  the  portraits  of  Miss 
Paleford  and  Miss  Winifred.  Her  first  remark  relieved 
him  upon  this  latter  point,  however. 

"To  defer  my  important  request,  for  a  moment,"  she 
said,  "  may  I  ask  whether  you  have  executed  the  commis 
sion  with  which  I  troubled  you — making  an  engagement 
for  my  sittings,  with  your  friend  the  painter !" 

Paul  drew  a  breath  of  relief.  It  was  important  for  the 
completeness  of  the  secret  experiment  of  his  life — (the 


PAUL     FANE.  295 

experiment  he  shamed  to  own,  which  had  been  to  him  of 
keener  zest,  thus  far,  than  the  trials  of  love  or  genius) — 
that,  to  Miss  Ashly's  confidence,  and  to  whatever  degree  of 
intimacy  she  was  likely  to  allow  upon  a  common  ground 
of  acquaintance,  he  should  first  try  his  claim  as  a  gentle 
man.  As  an  artist,  and  especially  as  one  to  whom  she 
was  herself  to  sit  for  a  portrait,  there  might  be  condescen- 
tion  in  her  politeness,  or  there  might  be  vanity  in  the 
desire  to  please.  He  wished,  for  this  evening,  at  least,  to 
be  upon  the  mere  footing  which  society  would  ordinarily 
give  him,  as  to  any  question  of  relative  position,  and — this 
ground-work  now  settled — he  had  nothing  to  do,  of  course, 
but  to  be  as  agreeable  as  was  any  way  possible  to  Miss 
Ashly,  who  (unsuspicious  of  the  problem  she  was  solving) 
leaned  at  present  so  confidingly  on  his  arm. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

IT  was  evidently  with  her  mind  very  much  upon  some 
thing  else,  that  Miss  Ashly  pursued  the  conversation,  as 
she  and  Paul  lingered  along  by  the  pedestals  of  the  statues, 
or  stopped  to  look  at  one  and  another  of  the  "  old  masters" 
that  lined  the  walls.  They  talked  of  Florence  and  its 
climate,  the  looks  of  the  grand  duke,  Austrian  politics  in 
Italy,  the  fashions  and  the  pictures. 

"  Did  I  understand  you,"  she  said,  at  last,  reverting  to 
the  subject  which  Paul  had  skillfully  digressed  from,  "that 
this  artist  friend  of  yours  speaks  English  2" 

"  It  is  his  native  language,"  said  Paul,  very  safely. 

"  Ah,  an  Englishman  !  I  might  have  known  that,  how 
ever,"  she  went  on  presently  to  add,  "for  no  foreigner 
would  have  read  so  well  the  physiognomy  of  an  English 
family.  I  forget  whether  you  mentioned  his  name  ?" 

Paul  was  staggered.  Here  was  a  direct  summons  to 
surrender  his  secret !  He  felt  the  betraying  blood  flush 
into  his  temples,  but  presently  made  half  a  confession, 


PAUL    FANE.  297 

thinking  it  might  be  just  possible  that  she  would  not  jump 
to  the  conclusion  at  once. 

"Why,  to  tell  the  truth,  he  is  a  former  acquaintance 
of  yours,"  he  said,  "  but  I  was  not  to  tell  you  his  name. 
He  was  curious  to  know  whether  you  would  remember 
him." 

Miss  Ashly's  answer  poured  oil  upon  the  long-hidden 
irritation  at  Paul's  heart ! 

"He  is  modest — for  a  man  of  his  genius — certainly," 
she  said,  with  a  smile  of  evident  pleasure  at  the  compliment 
she  had  found  for  herself  in  the  explanation.  "  He  must 
bear  the  mark  of  his  superiority,  of  course,  for  observant 
eyes,  and  such  men  are  not  easily  forgotten.  I  should  feel 
very  much  ashamed  to  have  met  the  painter  of  those  pic 
tures — even  to  have  had  the  pleasure  of  his  acquaintance 
(as  you  say  I  have) — without  recognizing  his  quality ; 
besides"  (she  added,  after  a  moment's  pause),  "he  must 
be  a  very  high-bred  man,  by  the  air  of  birth  and  breeding 
which  he  has  given  to  his  subjects,  and  which  can  be 
alone  given  by  the  instinct  of  the  artist's  own  habits  and 
manners." 

The  contradiction  to  all  this,  which  had  stuck  in  Paul's 
memory  like  the  barb  of  an  arrow — (her  own  lack  of 
recognition  of  that  same  artist  once  and  complete  forget- 
fulness  of  him  now) — was  not  enough  to  spoil  the  sweet 
ness  of  her  words.  But  he  wished  to  prolong  a  little,  the 

13* 


298  PAUL    FANE. 

window-opening   sho   had  given  to  the   closeness  of  his 
heart. 

"  And  do  you  think,"  he  asked,  "  that  the  quality  of  the 
man  is  always  recognizable,  in  the  ordinary  acquaintance 
of  society  ?" 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  after  a  moment's  turning  the 
question  over  in  her  mind,  "  I  think  we  usually  recognize 
superiority — at  least,  I  have  always  thought  I  did,  myselfj 
though  we  by  no  means  pay  homage  to  it  always, 
or  even  show  that  we  are  conscious  of  its  presence.  A 
woman's  pride,  policy,  vanity,  reserve,  diffidence,  or  any 
one  of  a  hundred  reasons,  may  prevent  her  giving  the  least 
sign  of  being  aware  that  a  man  she  could  admire  is  near 
her — but  she  treasures  none  the  less  the  memory  of  having 
met  him." 

"  A  myth  of  consolation  very  sweet  to  believe  in,"  mur 
mured  Paul. 

"  And  that  reminds  me  of  the  request  I  was  intending 
to  make  of  you,  Mr.  Fane,"  said  Miss  Ashly,  dropping  his 
arm  and  taking  a  seat  for  a  tete-a-tete — "  a  request  which 
I  will  preface  with  the  apology  that  Colonel  Paleford  told 
me  you  had  more  influence  than  any  one  else  in  the  matter 
it  refers  to." 

"  My  friend,  the  colonel,  honors  me,"  said  Paul,  "  what 
ever  the  matter  be — though  I  wonder" 

He  hesitated,  for  (in  his  surprise  at  Colonel  Paleford's 


PAUL    FANE.  299 

frankness  in  confessing,  as  well  as  sagacity  in  divining  that 
influence),  he  was  about  to  betray  his  anticipation  of  what 
it  would  be  more  delicate  for  Miss  Ashly  to  speak  of  first. 
She  proceeded  after  waiting  a  moment  for  the  unfinished 
sentence. 

"  I  should  add,  perhaps,  that  it  seemed  to  be  an  expres 
sion  let  slip  unguardedly  by  the  colonel,  and  that  he  turned 
the  conversation,  unwilling,  apparently,  to  say  more  upon 
the  subject.  But,"  she  added,  with  a  smile,  after  an 
instant's  hesitation,'  remembering  the  discovery  I  had 
already  made,  of  your  power  of  magnetizing — (my  Aunt 
Winnie's  familiar  confidence  being  a  very  wonderful  con 
quest,  I  assure  you,  Mr.  Fane !) — I  thought  the  influence 
he  ascribed  to  you  very  probable.  At  all  events,  with  the 
importance  of  the  object  in  view,  it  was  worth  while  to  try 
to  enlist  it  in  our  favor." 

"And  this  object?" — inquired  Paul,  already  anticipating 
her  answer. 

"Is  the  winning  of  Miss  Sybil  Paleford  for  my  brother." 

As  Miss  Ashly  thus  briefly  expressed  her  wish,  she  looked 
very  scrutinizingly  at  Paul,  evidently  with  a  curiosity  as  to 
whether  he  had  any  feeling  of  his  own  to  which  this  pro 
position  might  run  counter.  The  tone  of  his  reply,  was 
very  reassuring,  to  her. 

"  You  will  be  surprised  to  hear  that  I  had  already  a  plot 
in  hand  to  bring  the  match  about." 


300  PAUL    FANE. 

But,  as  he  made  this  mere  reference  to  the  portrait  of 
her  brother  (which  he  had  been  employed  upon  for  four  or 
five  days),  Paul  became,  for  the  first  time,  aware  of  a  lurk 
ing  reluctance  in  his  hitherto  willing  task  of  furthering  the 
love  of  Mr.  Ashly.  The  image  of  Miss  Paleford,  as  he  had 
seen  her  that  evening  in  her  mourning  dress,  and  with  the 
exquisite  sadness  of  a  mourning  heart  impressed  upon  her 
beautiful  features,  strangely  took  the  place  at  present,  of 
all  his  previous  impressions  of  her — displacing,  too,  unac 
countably  to  himself,  the  image  of  Mary  Evenden,  which 
had  hitherto  filled  all  the  foreground  of  his  fancy.  He 
could  see  no  other  Sybil  Paleford  than  the  beautiful 
mourner — no  other  face,  than  hers  with  its  tender  pen- 
siveness,  even  as  he  looked  now  at  Miss  Ashly.  There  had 
been  a  moment's  pause,  only,  during  which  these  sudden 
convictions  had  crowded  upon  his  mind.  It  was  inter 
rupted  by  a  laugh  from  his  wondering  companion. 

"You  make  me  feel,"  she  said,  "like  the  traveller  in  the 
German  story,  who  could  never  knock  at  a  door  without 
the  same  man's  making  his  appearance  on  the  inside.  I 
find  you  before  me,  somehow  in  all  my  supposed  secrets. 
May  I  ask  what  project  it  is,  in  my  brother's  favor,  for 
which  (let  me  say  beforehand),  I  am  already  very  grate 
ful?" 

"  I  must  reserve  the  disclosure  of  it,  with  your  permis 
sion,"  said  Paul — "  the  principal  wheel  of  the  machinery 


PAUL    FANE.  SOI 

not  being  as  yet,  very  certain  of  completion.  But  (if  I 
may  venture  to  ask  the  question),  are  we  quite  sure  that  it 
is  to  be  '  a  course  of  true  love '  which  is  to  be  made  to 
1  run  smooth '  with  our  aid  and  contrivance  ?" 

Paul  scarce  confessed  to  himself  the  real  motive  which 
lay  hidden  under  this  apparently  very  considerate  question 
— the  hope,  that,  in  Miss  Ashly's  fuller  explanation  of  the 
probabilities  of  the  match,  he  might  find  some  excuse  to 
himself  for  less  zeal  in  its  favor.  Her  reply  gave  some 
what  of  a  new  color  to  her  own  interest  in  it,  and — (what 
with  the  significancy  of  the  gift  of  which  he  now  found  the 
bestowal  in  his  own  hands,  and  the  side-inferences  as  to 
his  own  value  by  the  same  standard,  in  the  mind  of  the 
Aunt) — he  listened  more  attentively  even  than  Miss  Ashly 
was  aware  of — interrupting  her  only  by  monosyllables  of 
surprise  or  encouragement. 

"  As  to  my  brother,"  she  commenced,  "  there  is  no  doubt 
but  what  he  is  very  thoroughly  in  love.  It  is,  I  believe, 
the  first  time  in  his  life,  and  his  temperament  is  phleg 
matic  and  imimpressible ;  and  so  it  is  likely  to  go  seriously 
with  him — either  for  happiness  or  disappointment.  lie 
has  made  a  full  confession  of  his  feeling  on  the  subject,  to 
me,  and  I  have  very  naturally,  the  earnestness  of  a  confi 
dante  in  his  cause.  But,  aside  from  this,  and,  aside  from 
the  devotion  of  an  affectionate  sister  to  his  happiness,  there 
is  a  family  pride  enlisted  in  the  matter — outweighing  in 


302  PAULFANE. 

this  case  (if  I  can  manage  to  explain  its  peculiarity  to 
you),  most  of  the  ordinary  desirablenesses  of  a  match." 

Paul  turned  his  inquiring  eyes  more  fully  towards  her  as 
she  paused,  for  he  was  not  aware  that  the  relative  position 
of  the  two  families  was  so  much  in  favor  of  the  Palefords. 

14  It  is  not  the  common  family  pride,  that  would  seek 
honor  by  alliance  with  high  descent,  you  will  understand," 
she  continued.  We  are  vain  enough  to  think  our  own 
blood  better  than  that  of  most  of  the  titled  families  around  us 
— at  least  sufficiently  pure  to  give  distinction  to  any  with 
which  it  chose  to  mingle.  But,  with  the  best  blood,  there 
should  be  also  the  best  look  of  personal  superiority ;  and 
this  (I  may  say  to  you  Mr.  Fane,  since  you  have  brought 
me  to  the  confessional),  is  a  hobby  that  amounts  to  a 
monomania  in  our  family.  With  the  other  usual  consid 
erations  already  provided  for — wealth  enough  and  blood 
pure  enough — we  wish  all  who  belong  to  us  to  look  it, 
undeniably.  The  Ashlys  and  their  descendants  must,  if 
possible,  be  kept  recognizable  by  their  exterior — wherever 
seen,  wearing  the  superiority  which  tells  its  rank  unas- 
serted.  We  think  it  due  to  our  race  accordingly,  while 
we  represent  it,  to  engraft  nothing  upon  it  that  is  not 
perfect  in  its  physique — healthy,  beautiful,  and  of  noble 
presence." 

"All    of  which   Miss  Paleford    certainly    is,"   echoed 
Paul. 


PAULFANE.  303 

"Yes,  and  the  match  is  very  agreeable  to  us  in  other 
respects,"  she  continued.  "  The  Palefords  and  Ashlys 
have  been  friends  and  neighbors  for  centuries,  and  we 
know  all  their  qualities  of  character.  They  are  incapable 
of  pettiness  or  guile — essentially  lofty-natured,  frank,  brave 
and  true.  Gentler  or  purer  blood  beats  in  no  heart  on 
earth  than  in  Sybil  Paleford's!" 

As  Miss  Ashly's  cold  eye  kindled  with  the  glow  of 
this  generous  tribute  to  her  friend — her  neck  lifting 
unconsciously  from  the  bend  forward  that  was  usually 
somewhat  ungraceful,  and  her  proudly  cut  mouth  changing 
from  its  habitual  disdain  to  a  less  curving  arch  of  genial 
enthusiasm — Paul  took  the  imprint  upon  his  memory 
of  what  he  should  reproduce  in  her  portrait.  She  had 
given  the  mysterious  artist  a  "  sitting,"  unaware.  But 
there  was  more  than  this,  and  more  than  sympathy  of 
homage  to  beauty,  in  the  apparently  absorbed  attention 
of  the  courteous  attache.  In  spite  of  a  half-conscious 
reluctance  at  his  heart,  Paul  felt  that  resistless  welding 
of  a  new  link  to  the  heart  which  comes  with  timely 
corroboration  by  another's  praise.  His  freshly  received 
impression  of  Sybil's  beauty  and  character — as  new  that 
evening  as  if  he,  had  never  before  seen  her — was  graven 
in,  by  this  eloquent  homage  (from  one  who  chanced  to 
be,  for  him,  the  highest  authority  of  her  own  sex),  as 
by  the  point  of  a  diamond.  But  his  zeal  of  partnership, 


304  PAUL    FANE. 

in  the  task  of  securing  her  love  for  another,  grew  colder 
as  he  listened. 

"To  one  side,  then,  certainly,  I  think,"  recommenced 
Miss  Ashly,  "  the  match  would  bring  happiness — to  my 
brother,  and  to  his  home  and  kindred.  We  know,  also, 
that  it  would  be  a  most  welcome  alliance  to  Colonel 
Paleford." 

"Great  make-weights  in  the  scale!"  said  Paul,  giving 
voice  with  an  effort  to  a  conviction  which  he  could  not 
shut  out. 

"Are  they  not?  And,  against  these  and  my  brother's 
wooing,  which,  if  not  very  demonstrative,  is,  at  least, 
sincere  and  undivided,  there  is  only  (as  I  inferred  from 
what  Colonel  Paleford  said)  the  obstacle  of  a  romantic 
whim — a  girlish  horror  of  making  a  mercenary  match, 
and  consequent  distaste  to  my  brother  as  a  man  of 
fortune!" 

"  To  be  overcome,  I  take  it,  if  at  all,  by  touching  the 
romance  of  her  nature,  in  some  way,"  said  Paul,  talking 
very  mechanically,  but,  at  the  same  time,  expressing  his 
sincere  opinion  on  the  point. 

"You  have  already  given  it  thought,  I  have  the 
woman's  instinct  to  see,"  said  Miss  Ashly,  with  a  smile. 
"  And  is  the  project  you  have  in  hand  (if  I  may  venture 
to  make  the  inquiry),  based  upon  this  key  to  our  affec 
tions?" 


PAUL    FANE.  305 

"  If  successful,"  he  replied,  "  it  will  cause  Mr.  Ashly  to 
be  seen  by  Miss  Paleford  with  just  that  difference — a 
romantic  sentiment  in  his  face  instead  of  its  habitual 
imperturbability." 

"  You  are  a  magician — I  am  quite  prepared  to  be 
convinced!"  said  Miss  Ashly ;  "and"  (she  continued, 
turning  to  Paul  with  a  genial  relaxation  of  her  proud 
features,  but  in  the  expression  of  which  his  keen  eye 
saw  lurking  the  something  still  withheld — the  still  un- 
surrendered  reservation  of  an  habitual  consciousness  of 
superiority),  "it  is  with  this  excuse  that  I  account  to 
myself  for  such  extraordinary  confidence  in  a  stranger. 
Bless  me,  Mr.  Fane  !  how  little  I  have  known  you, 
after  all  !  And  to  be  telling  secrets  to  you  in  this 
way  !  And  asking  a  favor  of  you,  too,  which  I  really 
do  not  think  I  could  ask  of  another  man  living  ! " 

Paul  bowed  very  low,  with  a  mock  look  of  incre 
dulity. 

"  It  is  my  friend  the  necromancer,  however — not  a 
Mr.  Fane  of  a  week's  acquaintance — whom  I  thus  won 
derfully  trust,"  she  added  playfully,  as  she  rose  from 
her  seat,  <%and,  if  we  eventually  owe  to  you  this  jewel, 
so  coveted  to  grace  the  Ashly  name,  I  shall,  at  least, 
feel  a  life-long  gratitude  to  your  kindness  (that  is  to 
say,  to  your  hocus-pocus  !) — and  I  leave  it  hopefully  in 
your  hands.  I  suppose,"  she  asked,  as  Mrs.  Cleverly  came 


306  PAUL     FANE. 

in  sight,  evidently  in  search  of  them,  "  we  can  take  no 
farther  counsel  as  to  your  project,  at  present  ?" 

"Not  till  we  meet  at  your  aunt's,  with  the  nameless 
artist,"  answered  Paul,  very  mystifyingly,  and  the  next 
moment,  addressing  a  remark  to  Mrs.  Cleverly,  and  so 
ending  the  tete-a-tete  with  Miss  Ashly,  leaving  her,  how 
ever,  still  more  puzzled  than  before  by  his  closing  words. 

The  remainder  of  the  evening  passed  off  rery  dreamily 
to  Paul,  though  he  was  mechanically  and  very  acceptably 
unremitting  in  his  attendance  upon  Mrs.  Cleverly.  Tn 
their  promenades  he  came  several  times  in  sight  of  Mary 
Evenden  ;  and  he  was  somewhat  surprised,  with  all  his 
abstraction,  to  see  how  her  eyes  failed  to  follow  him, 
after  each  sisterly  glance  of  recognition  ;  but,  with  the 
princess  and  her  circle  of  friends,  she  seemed  absorbed 
and  entirely  at  her  ease  ;  and  Paul  could  not  but  feel 
that  his  attentions  (which  he  was  to  show  her  but  for 
the  peremptory  orders  to  the  contrary),  were  anything 
but  missed !  "  Signor  Valerio,"  to  whose  side  she  kept 
close,  was  sufficing  for  her  present  happiness,  without  a 
doubt — he  saw  it  in  the  face  he  knew  so  well.  But  there 
was  a  stronger  feeling  than  jealousy  in  his  heart,  which 
took  the  uppermost  place  again,  as,  each  time,  she  passed 
out  of  sight ;  and,  with  this  feeling,  at  last,  Paul  found 
himself  struggling,  as  the  morning  broke  on  his  sleepless 
eyes  after  the  ball. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

FROM  various  circumstances,  there  had  been  a  brief 
calm  in  the  troubled  waters  of  Paul's  destiny.  The  delay 
of  Miss  Winifred  Ashly  in  returning  to  Florence,  had 
deferred,  from  time  to  time,  the  proposed  "  sitting,"  which 
was  to  be  given  to  Miss  Mildred  Ashly  at  her  aunt's  rooms ; 
and  a  slight  illness  of  Paul's,  with  the  mourning  seclusion 
of  the  inhabitants  of  Casa  G ,  had  just  sufficed  to  pre 
vent  his  meeting,  for  a  week  or  two,  with  any  of  the  Pale- 
ford  circle.  His  illness,  however,  though  dispiriting  and 
unfitting  him  for  visits,  had  not  wholly  confined  him  to  his 
lodgings;  and,  joining  Mrs.  Cleverly  and  Mary  Evenden 
over  their  breakfast,  on  his  way,  he  had  usually  crept 
around  to  Blivins's  studio,  and  beguiled  the  day  with 
irregular  labor  at  his  easel.  He  had  thus  finished  (with 
the  aid  of  the  miniature)  the  portrait  of  Mr.  Ashly,  which 
was  to  act  as  his  atonement  for  a  rivalry  unjustly  resentful ; 
and,  though,  as  a  piece  of  artistic  work,  it  was  now  very 

807 


308  PAUL     FANE. 

satisfactory  to  his  eye,  he  had  achieved  it  through  many 
struggles  with  himself  and  with  very  conflicting  feelings. 

His  friend  Tetherly  having  gone  to  Rome  (taking  with 
him  a  note  of  introduction  to  Miss  Winifred,  with  whose 
portrait  he  had  been  so  captivated) ;  Blivins,  silently  at 
work  as  usual,  made  happy  by  the  constant  company  of 
his  brother  artist ;  Mary  Evenden  entirely  absorbed  with 
"Signor  Valerie's"  teachings  in  Art,  and  Mrs.  Cleverly 
abundantly  attended  to,  by  friends  of  her  own  whom  she 
had  met  at  court ;  Paul  was  pretty  much  at  the  mercy  of 
his  own  thoughts.  He  had  found  these,  and  his  compara 
tive  solitude,  rather  more  burthensome  than  he  could  well 
bear — on  one  cloudy  and  gloomy  day — and,  rather  as  a. 
relief  of  desperation  than  with  any  feeling  of  readiness  for 

the    task,   he    sent    a   note    to    Cnsa  G ,  making   an 

appointment  for  the  expected  "sitting."  With  their  leave, 
he  wrote  to  say,  the  nameless  artist  would  come  out  on  the 
morrow  and  make,  there,  a  commencement  of  Miss  Ashly's 
portrait,  instead  of  waiting  longer  for  her  aunt's  return 
from  Rome. 

The  messenger  had  returned  with  a  very  willing  assent 
to  the  proposition ;  and,  early  in  the  forenoon  of  the  next 
day,  Paul  was  in  the  vetturino  of  his  friend  Giuseppe, 
going  round  by  Blivins's  studio  to  pick  up  his  materials, 

on  the  way  to  Casa  G ;  when,  at  the  corner  of  the 

Duomo,  he  was  met  by  the  princess,  driving  in  to  her  own 


PAUL    FANE.  309 

daily  occupation.  To  stop  and  exchange  kind  inquiries 
was  a  matter  of  course  ;  but  it  ended  in  the  drawing  up  of 
the  vehicles  to  the  door  of  the  cathedral,  the  two  occu 
pants  taking  arms  for  a  confidential  stroll  and  tete-a-tete 
under  the  dim  shadows  of  the  long  and  vaulted  aisles.  On 
hearing  where  Paul  was  bound,  with  his  morning  errand, 
the  philosophic  sculptress  had  thought  of  something  it  was 
perhaps  timely  to  speak  of,  as  to  the  secret  of  which  she  had 
been  made  the  confidant. 

"  You  will  see  Miss  Paleford  to-day,"  she  said,  as  they 
paced  slowly  along  over  the  tesselated  floor. 

"  I  presume  she  will  be  present  during  the  sitting,"  he 
replied,  coloring  slightly,  "  though  I  should  certainly  be 
less  embarrassed  with  my  work  if  she  were  not.  I  should 
very  much  prefer,  indeed,  that  the  portrait  of  Mr.  Ashly, 
which  I  take  with  me,  should  be  first  presented  to  her  in 
my  absence,  and  by  his  sister." 

"And  what  portion  of  this  two-fold  embarrassment 
would  be  removed,"  asked  the  princess,  "  if  Miss  Paleford 
were  no  longer  the  forbidden  water  at  the  lip  of  my  friend 
Tantalus  ?" 

Paul  hesitated  a  little,  with  the  consciousness  of  the 
truth  of  what  was  thus  boldly  assumed  by  the  question,  for 
there  was  a  degree  of  truth  in  it,  at  least,  of  which  he  had 
not  yet  made  confession,  even  to  himself. 

"  There  would  be  less   embarrassment — certainly !"  he 


310  PAUL     FANE. 

said,  with  a  smile,  followed  by  a  look  of  very  puzzled 
inquiry. 

u  I  do  not  know  how  agreeable  it  will  be  to  you,"  con 
tinued  the  princess,  "even  to  know  that  you  are  at  liberty 
to  love  the  one  lady,  since  it  involves  the  possible  mortifi 
cation  that  you  are  not  loved  by  the  other." 

Paul  half  stopped  in  his  walk,  but  she  proceeded  with 
out  noticing  his  surprise. 

When  we  conversed  last  upon  the  embarrassments  in 
the  matter,  we  took  for  granted  that  the  two  claims  for 
your  heart — one  made  by  your  mother's  letter,  and  one  by 
Mrs.  Paleford's — were  based  upon  knowledge  that  could 
scarce  be  mistaken ;  and,  as  to  Mary  Evenden,  I  not  only 
thought  her  attachment  to  you  a  matter  of  course,  but,  on 
seeing  her,  I  changed  my  opinion  as  to  the  one  who  was 
most  ready  to  make  you  immediately  happy.  My  judg 
ment  and  my  sympathies  all  went  with  your  early  play 
mate." 

"Well?"  inquired  Paul,  stopping  short,  in  astonished 
expectation. 

"  Well,"  said  the  princess,  "  it  is  my  belief,  now,  that 
there  is  no  tender  passion  whatever,  in  Mary's  childish 
attachment  to  you — a  regard  for  her  happiness,  therefore, 
if  I  am  correct,  being  no  obstacle,  at  present,  to  your  loving 
some  one  else." 

With  all  the  hidden  willingness  that  there  might  have 


P  A  U  L      F  A  N  E  .  311 

been  for  this  news,  Paul  found  its  open  announcement 
somewhat  staggering. 

"  I  do  not  know  that  I  can  fully  explain  it  to  you,"  the 
princess  went  on  to  say,  "  for  it  proves  an  unsusceptibility, 
which  I  do  not  myself  quite  comprehend  ;  but  I  have  been 
wholly  absorbed,  of  late,  in  my  study  of  this  lovely  girl's 
nature ;  and,  what  with  her  complete  confidingness  and  unre 
serve  towards  me  as  a  woman,  and  my  own  skill  gained 
by  habitual  curiosity  in  the  analysis  of  character,  I  do  not 
think  I  am  mistaken  in  my  inference." 

Paul  could  not  but  admit  that  better  authority  was 
hardly  possible. 

"  I  was  first  led  to  give  a  thought  to  it,"  she  continued, 
"by  observing,  at  the  court  ball,  the  contented  uncon 
sciousness  and  tranquillity  with  which  she  saw  the  entire 
monopoly  of  your  attentions  by  another  lady — drawn  off 
into  a  corner,  as  you  were,  by  Miss  Ashly,  and  evidently 
giving  the  most  deferential  interest  to  the  topic  between 
you.  This  looked  a  shade  beyond  what  I  could  believe, 
even  of  transatlantic  disinterestedness,  in  love ;  but  I  still 
thought  it  possible  that  the  evening's  jealousy  might  have 
been  •  exhausted  upon  the  lovely  Niobe  in  her  mourning 
weeds,  whom  we  had  seen  at  the  tea-table." 

It  grew  evident  to  Paul  that  he  had  been  very  saga 
ciously  watched. 

"  The  occasional    mention    of   Miss  Paleford,   which   I 


312  PAUL     FANE. 

made  in  the  course  of  the  next  day,  satisfied  me,  however, 
that  of  this  more  trying  and  \mdeniable  eclipse,  she  had 
been  equally  unconscious  ;  and,  with  this  confirmation  of 
my  wonder,  I  began  to  look  upon  it  as  a  problem  worth 
the  studying — no  less  from  fidelity  to  the  confidence  you 
had  reposed  in  me,  than  from  the  novelty  of  woman's 
nature,  which  it  promised  curiously  to  develop.  Over  our 
work,  therefore,  in  these  long  mornings,  I  have  so  managed 
as  to  turn  the  conversation  upon  the  abstract  theory  of 
}ove — the  personal  experience  and  habit  of  thought  being 
called  upon,  of  course,  for  illustration  and  argument." 

"And  she  ignores  the  tender  passion,  altogether,  you 
say  ?"  asked  Paul,  rather  skeptically. 

"  Not  in  others,"  replied  the  princess ;  "  and  that  is  one 
of  the  points  that  puzzle  me  ;  for  she  seems  to  have  given 
it  constant  study  and  observation  as  an  important  element 
of  Art.  She  wishes  to  know  why  the  best  statues  have 
been  moulded  and  the  best  pictures  painted,  from  the 
kindling  of  this  fire  in  the  blood  and  brain — wondering, 
with  the  coolest  philosophy  of  self-knowledge,  why  she  her 
self  feels  no  glimmer  of  such  inspiration." 

"  Yet  she  is  very  affectionate  in  her  nature,"  Paul 
musingly  said. 

"  It  was  the  distinction  she  made,  in  her  argument," 
pursued  the  princess,  "  that,  with  affection  for  her  friends 
which  would  sacrifice  even  her  life  for  them  if  necessan— • 


PAUL     FANE.  ^  313 

affection  which  had  neither  stint  nor  reserve  in  its  devoted- 
ness — she  still  felt  no  instinct  of  the  love  that  was  expressed 
in  Art  and  described  in  poetry.  And  she  expressed  her 
wonder,  not  only  at  the  absence  of  any  feeling  which  she 
could  recoanise  as  love,  but  at  her  strongly  instinctive  pre 
ference  for  a  life  without  it.  She  said  that,  spite  of  reason 
ing  and  poetry  to  the  contrary,  it  seemed  to  her  like  a 
general  law  from  which  the  few  higher  natures  should  be 
exempt — as  there  were  those  who  were  not  subject  to  the 
curse  of  getting  their  bread  by  the  sweat  of  their  brow — 
and  that  the  life  of  genius,  particularly,  could  not  seem 
privileged  or  intellectually  set  apart  and  perfected,  with 
out  freedom  from  an  influence  so  common — with  all  ita 
commonness  and  sensuality,  too,  so  overpoweringly  engross 
ing.  And  the  statuary  in  my  little  studio,"  the  princess 
smilingly  continued,  "served  her  for  illustrations  of  her 
meaning — the  figure  of  my  Antinoiis,  especially,  which 
she  thought  was  too  beautiful  for  love.  How  is  it,  she 
asked,  that  I  can  pour  out  my  whole  soul  in  appreciation 
and  admiration  of  the  beauty  of  that  form,  and  yet  feel 
that  it  has  attained  its  highest  point  of  expression  and 
inspiration  by  its  insensibility  to  love  ?" 

"  Pleased,  of  course^  with  your  Daphne — flying  from 
love,"  Paul  added. 

"  It  was  upon  Miss  Evenden's  turning  to  this,"  said  the 
princess,  "  that  I  took  advantage  of  the  opportunity  to  get 

14 


314  PAUL    FANE. 

from  her — quite  accidentally,  as  it  appeared — tlie  confes 
sion  I  have  yet  to  tell  you  of.  As  she  stood  near  the 
pedestal  of  Daphne,  with  the  moulding-pencil  in  her  hand, 
pointing  to  the  refusal  expressed  in  the  movement  of  the 
shoulders,  I  hinted  at  a  possible  similarity  between  this  and 
a  future  consciousness  of  her  own — at  a  proposal  from  Mr. 
Fane,  or  somebody  else." 

"  And  did  she  then  speak  of  me  ? "  Paul  asked,  very 
eagerly. 

"  Take  a  long  breath  for  fortitude  to  listen,  my  unloved 
friend  !"  the  princess  proceeded,  half  playfully,  half  doubt- 
ingly.  "  She  expressed  herself  with  the  most  naive  defi- 
niteness  and  simplicity  as  to  the  very  gentleman  in  ques 
tion — complimenting  you,  however,  with  calling  it  the  very 
case  in  point,  for  her  argument.  There  was  Paul,  she  said, 
whom  she  had  every  reason  in  the  world  to  fall  in  love 
with.  She  believed,  from  certain  indications,  that  his 
mother  expected  it  of  her  —  she  thought  it  probable, 
indeed,  though  he  had  never  spoken  on  the  subject,  that 
Paul  expected  it  himself.  Yet  she  had  hoped  that,  in  his 
absence,  he  would  form  a  passionate  attachment  to  some 
one  else,  leaving  her  to  resume  her  sister's  place  in  his 
affection  on  his  return.  She  would  have  been  much  hap 
pier  to- have  found  him  married,  on  her  arrival  in  Florence. 
There  was  at  present  a  restraint  between  herself  and  her 
old  playmate  (she  added,  after  a  little  hesitation,  quite 


P  A  U  L      F  A  N  E.  315 

sadly),  and/she  could  only  explain  it  by  the  want  of  sym-' 
patliy — her  own  unavoidable  lack  of  response  to  some  feel 
ing  he  had  been  cherishing  towards  her." 

Paul  felt  that  there  was  light  thus  thrown  on  much  that 
he  had  found  inexplicable,  in  Mary's  manner.  He  listened 
with  expectant  attention. 

"I  must  salve  the  wound  for  you,  however,"  the  princess 
proceeded,  with  her  tone  of  natural  and  earnest  kindness, 
"  for  the  charming  girl  went  on  most  eloquently  to  picture 
her  companionship  with  your  genius — spoke  glowingly  of 
the  swreetness  of  what  came  from  your  loftier  mind — 
thought  you  Avould  be  perfect  if  you  could  become  indiffer 
ent  to  all  life  but  that  of  intellect ; — and  declared  that  she 
anticipated  that  sublimation  of  your  nature,  and  her  own 
fellowship  with  it,  as  her  greatest  resource  for  happiness  in 
coming  years." 

"And  is  it  possible,  then,"  asked  Paul,  whose  interest  in 
Mary  (as  a  problem  he  had  foiled  to  decipher)  began  to  be 
awakened,  "  that  there  can  be  a  woman's  heart  wanting  to 
a  nature  otherwise  of  such  completeness?" 

"  Her  luxuriant  beauty  would  certainly  tell  a  different 
story,"  said  the  princess,  "  and  that  is  what  puzzles  me. 
She  is  of  faultlessly  free  development,  in  her  figure — of 
the  fullness  of  lip  and  features  which  is  thought  usually  to 
indicate  susceptibility — her  motion  is  almost  voluptuously 


316  PAUL    FANE. 

pliant  and  unguarded — and  the  expression  of  lier  deep 
blue  eye  is  even  remarkable  for  its  feminine  tenderness. 
There  should  be  a  woman's  heart  under  such  a  covering !" 

"Dormant,  perhaps!1'  suggested  Paul. 

"*  Why,  if  so,  you  have  strangely  failed  to  awaken  it," 
replied  his  friend,  "  but  it  may  be  only  a  stronger  instance 
of  that  unequal  tardiness  of  Nature  which  I  have  often 
observed.  We  are  not  born  with  all  our  faculties  ready  to 
begin ;  nor  do  the  after-awakenings  come  to  all  natures 
alike — that  is,  with  the  same  order  of  succession  or  length 
of  delay.  I  believe  "  (she  added  with  a  smile  of  inquiry) 
"the  moustache  of  your  lordlier  sex  develops  sooner  on 
some  lips  than  on  others.  The  mental  faculties,  we  know, 
are  very  irregular  as  to  their  time  of  ripeness,  and  even  as 
to  their  first  indication  of  existence.  Poetry  wakens  late, 
in  some  bosoms.  Why  should  not  Passion — in  the  coldly 
pure  heart  of  woman,  spell- bound  also  by  her  very  balance 
and  harmony  of  fullness  and.  completeness  —  waken  still 
later  than  the  faculties  which  are  called  upon  by  her  edu 
cation?  It  would  not  be  wonderful  if  it  should  slumber 
till  comparatively  late  in  life — and,  indeed,  I  have  known 
more  than  one  instance  of  a  romantic  first  love  kindled 
after  youth  was  well  past." 

Paul  might  have  given  an  instance  of  this,  if  he  had 
been  at  liberty  to  speak  of  Miss  Winfred  Ashly — but  the 


PAUL     FANE.  317 

passing  thought  and  its  association  reminded  him  of  the 
errand  he  was  bound  upon,  and  he  hastened  to  close  the 
conversation  by  reverting  to  its  main  point. 

14  Your  kind  counsel,  then,"  he  said,  "  releases  me  alto 
gether  from  one  of  my  two  obligations — enjoining  upon 
me,  of  course,  to  devote  myself  exclusively  to  the  fulfill 
ment  of  the  other — not  loved  by  Mary  Evenden,  I  may 
freely  take  my  chance  of  being  loved  by  Sybil  Paleford  ?" 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  the  princess,  "  if  I  guard  you  against 
too  sweeping  an  interpertation  of  what  you  term  my  l  coun 
sel.'  I  have  meant  merely  to  advise  you  of  the  fact  that 
you  were  equitably  at  liberty  to  accept  the  dyino^  mother's 
bequest,  and  love  Miss  Paleford.  While  my^feason  gives 
you  this  for  your  guidance,  however,  my  imagination  and 
feeling  lean  quite  the  other  way." 

Paul  had  too  much  on  his  mind  for  expression,  but  ho 
looked  inquiringly  at  the  princess. 

"  I  mean  that  I  think  it  would  be  the  most  beautiful  of 
romances,  to  make  a  love-vjgil  of  Mary  Evenden — to  watch 
and  wait  for  the  waking  of  her  sleeping  heart.  With  so 
much  already  won — the  mind  quite  devoted  to  you,  and 
the  fair  creature  all  yours  except  the  lacking  consent  of 
passion  yet  unawakened — it  seems  but  a  story  of  which 
the  sequel  is  withheld." 

"  Wedlock  to  be  deferred,  to  close  the  book  ?"  asked 


318  PAUL    FANE. 

Paul,  with  a  smile,  as  he  handed  his  friend  into  her  car 
riage. 

"  Not  necessarily,"  she  said.  "  Mary  Evenden  might  be 
very  happy  as  a  wife,  with  only  sympathy  of  tastes  and 
pursuits  ;  and  a  life  passed  in  hoping  still  to  touch  the 
heart,  would  turn  many  a  forced  match  into  poetry." 

Paul  beckoned  to  his  vetturino,  as  the  princess  drove 
off  with  this  final  addition  to  her  tangle  of  contradictory 
suggestions;  and,  in  a  few  minutes,  freighted  with  his 
materials  from  the  studio,  he  was  on  his  way  to  Colonel 
Paleford's ;  very  little  prepared,  either  by  what  he  had  now 
heard  or  by  his  state  of  health  and  spirits,  for  the  drama 
of  accumulating  events  opening  before  him. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

ON  arriving  at  Casa  G ,  Paul  found  Colonel 

Paleford  sitting  solitary  and  thoughtful  under  the  roofed 
gateway  at  the  entrance  of  the  vineyard,  and  it  was 
evidently  a  relief  and  pleasure  to  him  to  see  his  friend, 
In  the  course  of  a  few  minutes'  conversation,  on  their 
way  to  the  house,  it  chanced  to  be  mentioned  that  the 
secret  of  the  nameless  artist  had  been  kept.  They  had 
not  felt  at  liberty  to  speak  of  it  without  Paul's  permission 
— Miss  Ashly,  of  course,  at  present,  expecting  a  visit  from 
a  stranger. 

The  light  of  the  little  drawing-room  was  soon  arranged, 
and  the  easel  and  its  belongings  made  ready  for  "  the 
sitting."  They  still  waited  for  the  appearance  of  the 
ladies ;  but,  in  taking  up  his  pencil,  as  they  conversed, 
Paul  found,  both  how  ill  he  was,  and  how  much  his 
depressed  spirits  had  been  already  tried,  that  day.  By 
the  nicely  understood  feel  of  his  wand  of  genius,  he 


320  PAUL     FANE. 

was  reminded  of  his  trembling  hand,  and  of  the  doubt 
fulness  of  the  calm  of  inner  strength  that  was  to  be 
particularly  needed  for  the  critical  ordeal  before  him. 
With  the  long-cherished  dream  of  his  youth  just  crushed 
in  his  heart — a  fresh  touchstone  to  be  applied  to  the 
point  of  his  secret  pride  and  weakness — the  cause  of  his 
now  most  dreaded  rival  to  be  magnanimously  forwarded 
by  a  plot  of  his  own  contriving — and  the  skill  of  the 
artist,  notwithstanding  all  these  deranging  and  disturbing 
causes,  expected  to  confirm,  by  his  present  work,  its 
previous  triumphs  of  art  and  discrimination — he  literally 
felt  the  strength  insufficient.  He  was  about  to  confess 
as  much,  at  an  expression  of  sympathy  from  Colonel 
Paleford,  who  had  remarked  his  paleness  and  debility, 
when  Miss  Ashly's  step  was  heard  upon  the  stair. 

The  greeting  was  frank  and  cordial,  as  she  entered,  with 
the  pressure  given  by  her  hand  to  Paul's. 

"A  very  artistic  arrangement,"  she  said,  looking  round 
upon  flie  half-darkened  room,  "  but  where  is  the  artist  ? " 

Paul  took  the  pencil  from  the  little  shelf  of  the  easel 
standing  near  him,  and,  with  a  bow  of  mock  ceremony, 
made  the  sign  of  the  cross  upon  his  own  forehead. 

"  Our  friend  Fane,"  said  Colonel  Paleford,  smiling  at  the 
blank  incredulity  with  which  the  silent  announcement  was 
received,  "  is  the  nameless  artist  we  have  been  admiring  all 
this  while ! 


PAUL    FANE.  321 

"And  the  picture  of  Miss  Sybil  ?"  asked  the  astonished 
guest,  beginning  already  to  be  formal. 

"  Was  his  work,  I  believe  !"  said  the  colonel. 

"And  my  aunt!"  she  almost  breathlessly  added. 

"  Miss  Winifred  Ashly  did  me  the  honor  to  sit  to  me, 
also,"  said  Paul,  with  the  deferential  air  of  an  employed 
artist. 

There  were  too  many  things  to  remember,  and  to  re 
arrange  in  accordance  with  this  startling  surprise,  for 
Miss  Mildred  Ashly  to  recover  very  readily.  She  looked 
at  the  easel  and  at  Paul  alternately,  and  seemed  to  be 
trying  to  identify  them  with  something  in  her  mind. 
Feeling  somewhat  embarrassed  with  her  scrutiny,  he 
went  to  his  portfolio-case  which  leaned  against  the 
wall. 

"And  here,"  he  said,  producing  his  crayon  copy  of 
her  brother,  and  setting  it  upon  the  drawing-board,  "is 
a  present  from  the  same  nameless  artist,  which  I  presume 
will  be  very  welcome  to  Miss  Paleford.  I  have  endea 
vored  to  show,  in  my  crayon  portrait,  the  enthusiasm 
and  nobleness  of  Mr.  Ashly's  face — wanting  which,  I 
thought  that  the  miniature  you  lent  me  had  done  injus 
tice  to  his  hidden  qualities  and  character." 

There  was  an  involuntary  utterance  of  admiring  pleasure 
by  Miss  Ashly,  as  she  first  looked  at  the  drawing ;  but  a 
recovery  of  her  attitude  of  reserve,  a  moment  after,  and 


322  PAUL     FANE. 

a  just  perceptible  return  of  her  long-remembered  and 
indescribable  impenetrability  of  countenance,  once  more 
staggered  Paul.  He  was  not  reassured  or  comforted, 
even  by  the  expressive  movement  of  Colonel  Paleford, 
who,  after  looking  a  moment  at  the  portrait  of  Mr. 
Ashly,  passed  near  where  stood  the  young  friend  whom 
he  thus  considered  generously  disinterested,  silently  press 
ing  the  hand  that  Paul  was  resting  on  his  hip. 

The  pause  became  embarrassing. 

"I  have  your  own  portrait  already  in  my  mind,  Miss 
Ashly !"  said  Paul,  wishing  to  change  the  subject,  and  feel 
ing  that  he  must  begin  soon  upon  his  morning's  work,  or 
lose  the  strength  for  it  altogether;  "I  have  chanced  to 
see  you,  also  "  (he  added,  with  forced  playfulness),  "  when 
the  inner  face  of  the  Ashlys  shone  through." 

But  this  significant  and  rather  desperate  betrayal  of 
his  secret  thought,  as  to  the  present  and  outer  look  of 
the  Ashly  features,  seemed  but  to  confirm  her  hesitating 
reserve. 

"  Pardon  me,  Mr.  Fane  ! "  she  said,  "  I  was  not  aware 

upon  whose  attention  I  was making  such  demands ! 

It  had  not  occurred  to  me  that  your  valuable  time  was 

that  of an  artist.  I,  really you  must  excuse  me, 

Mr.  Fane  ! 1  could  only  sit  to  you professionally  !" 

"  There  was  in  this  broken  explanation  (and  particularly 
in  the  concluding  word,  and  in  the  accent  and  look  with 


PAUL    FANE.  323 

which  it  was  uttered),  a  whole  volume  for  Paul's  well- 
prepared  comprehension  to  read.  He  saw  at  once  the  full 
length  and  breadth  of  the  feelings  now  struggling  in  Miss 
Ashly's  mind,  and  he  felt  that  the  line  between  himself 
and  her — the  long  hated  line  of  difference  of  rank  and 
position — was  re-drawn  as  with  a  pen  of  fire.  There  was 
but  this  softening  of  it,  that,  as  an  attache,  and  with  the 
opportune  power  of  rendering  very  important  service,  he 
had  been  unquestionably  taken  into  her  confidence ;  but 
even  this  might  be  attributed  to  overruling  reasons  of 
interest,  and  it  was  an  admission  of  equality  and  willing 
obligation,  now  very  suddenly  withdrawn,  on  discovering 
him  to  be  an  artist.  With  the  rapid  crowding  of  this 
unwelcome  conviction  on  his  mind,  Paul's  natural  prompt 
itude  at  grappling  with  uncertain  shadows  came  to  his 
aid. 

"If  Miss  Ashly  chooses  to  be  my  first  customer,"  he 
said,  quietly,  "  she  is  very  welcome  to  so  honor  me ! 
Though  I  have  not  painted  portraits  for  money,  thus  far, 
it  was  because  I  was  an  apprentice  in  Art.  It  is  to  be  my 
profession !" 

Paul  caught  sight  of  Colonel  Paleford's  face,  as  he 
turned  to  his  easel  to  arrange  for  a  beginning,  in  appa 
rently  undisturbed  accordance  with  Miss  Ashly's  wish ; 
and  there  was  an  approval  in  the  old  soldier's  calm  eye, 
which  repaid  him  for  much  that  he  was  suffering  unseen. 


324  PAUL    FANE. 

But  the  entrance  of  Miss  Paleford  turned  the  attention 
for  a  moment.  She  glided  in  with  her  usual  stately  grace, 
as  freshly  and  simply  cordial  as  she  was  renewedly  and 
wonderfully  beautiful ;  and  her  father,  exercising  his  pol 
ished  tact  as  a  man  of  the  world,  stated  the  embarrassment 
to  her,  mock  seriously,  as  an  amusing  scruple  of  over- 
delicacy  on  the  part  of  Miss  Ashly. 

"  Suppose  we  compromise  the  matte?,  my  dear  Mildred," 
said  the  unsuspecting  Sybil,  "by  your  accepting  the  portrait 
from  me?  I  am  quite  at  liberty,  I  am  very  sure,  to  accept 
it,  myself,  from  Mr.  Fane,  and  we  shall  thus  bridge  over 
the  chasm,  without  calling  that  hateful  'money'  to  our 
aid." 

"  But  you  are  not  aware,  my  child,"  said  the  Colonel, 
"  how  deeply  you  are  in  Mr.  Fane's  debt,  already.  He  has 
done  a  masterpiece  of  work  for  you,  which  you  have  not 
yet  seen.  There"  (the  father  continued,  as  Paul  set  the 
portrait  of  Mr.  Ashly  on  his  easel)  "  is  what,  he  thinks, 
represents  truly  the  brother  of  our  friend." 

Hi  was  a  long  and  silent  gaze  now  bent  upon  that  crayon 
portrait  by  Sybil  Paleford.  In  every  one  of  the  three 
hearts,  beating  almost  within  hearing  of  hers,  there  was  a 
throb  of  suspense,  of  which  each  dreaded  the  betrayal  as  a 
secret  of  his  own — and  the  voice  of  the  beautiful  mourner 
first  broke  the  silence  : 

"  How  strangely  admirable !" 


PA  UL     F  A  N  E.  325 

Paul  heard — and  saw  the  look  given  to  his  work  by  the 
large  soft  eyes  that  were  now  the  world  to  him — and,  by 
thosi  expressive  words,  he  knew  that  the  dreaded  success 
of  his  artistic  effort  was  complete,  his  own  genius  throwing 
a  new  and  more  favorable  light  upon  the  character  and 
features  ^of  his  rival.  He  forgot,  in  the  anguish  of  the 
moment,  Miss  Ashly  and  her  torture  of  his  pride !  It 
.  would  be  necessary,  in  another  instant,  to  meet  and  answer 
Sybil's  look,  or  the  expression  of  her  thanks  in  words. 
He  nerved  resolution  and  summoned  up  the  calmness  for 
lip  and  eye. 

But  Nature  was  overtasked !  The  giddiness  of  the 
enfeebled  invalid  had  already  reminded  him,  once  or  twice, 
that  he  had  both  fasted  longer  than  usual,  and  passed  his 
accustomed  noon  hour  of  repose  from  mental  labor.  His 
sight  was  not  clear  without  an  effort,  and  his  brain  grew 
faint.  Suddenly  his  feet  felt  uncertain  under  him.  Miss 
Paleford  turned  to  speak,  and  he  made  one  struggle  to 
seem  as  he  had  been  gathering  strength  to  seem  at  that 
crisis — but  it  was  too  late.  Around  swam  all  the  objects 
in  the  room — furniture,  people,  windows — and  Paul  fell 
senseless  to  the  floor. 


It  appeared  to  be  twilight  when  consciousness  once  more 
lifted  the  eyelids  of  the  sleeper.     He  found  himself  alone, 


326  PAUL    FANE. 

and  lying  upon  the  broad  cushions  of  a  lounge,  in  a  room 
that  seemed  not  at  first  familiar  to  him  ;  but  which  the 
sight  of  his  easel  in  the  corner,  and  the  portrait  of  Mrs. 
Paleford  on  the  wall,  soon  recalled  to  him  as  the  drawing- 
room  of  Casa  G .  He  gradually  remembered  the 

errand  with  which  he  had  come  thither,  and  the  trials  and 
combining  circumstances  of  that  morning,  to  him  so  event 
ful  ;  and  he  then  recalled  his  debility  by  illness,  and  the 
sudden  failure  of  his  strength,  while  preparing  to  take  a 
first  sitting  from  Miss  Ashly ;  and  the  truth  became  evi 
dent.  He  had  fainted,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  and, 
falling  asleep  while  yet  scarce  conscious  of  his  restoration, 
had  been  left  by  the  family  to  his  repose. 

Languid  and  spiritless,  Paul  lay,  struggling  with  his  fast 
up-crowding  thoughts.  Not  a  sound  was  to  be  heard  ;  and, 
as  he  became  more  used  to  the  shadows  of  the  dim-lighted 
room,  he  once  more  rallied  his  remembrance  of  each  well- 
known  article  of  furniture  and  ornament ;  and,  by  aid  of 
these  associations,  recovered,  link  by  link,  the  chain  of 
resolve  and  duty  which  had  there  been  bound  about  his 
heart.  It  was  difficult.  He  could  not  but  confess  to  him 
self — more  than  ever  before,  as  he  lay  undisturbed,  with 
the  atmosphere  of  that  beauty-haunted  and  dream-hallowed 
house  silent  around  him — that  he  loved  her  who  was  the 
angel  of  the  place.  The  mother,  whose  tender  look  now 
fell  upon  him  from  the  portrait  on  the  wall,  seemed  again 


PAUL    FANE.  327 

to  offer  her  dying  gift — the  priceless  daughter's  love,  which 
it  had  been  his  bitter  task  to  assist  his  rival  more  certainly 
to  win.  The  release  given  to  him  in  the  knowledge  of  the 
indifference  of  Mary  Evenden — no  longer  a  surprise — 
seemed  a  welcome  ordaining  of  Fate,  in  his  destiny  of 
love.  His  whole  soul,  as  he  now  lay,  re-waking  and  fancy- 
wild,  upon  that  invalid  couch,  sprang  to  Sybil  Paleford. 

But  there  was  a  sudden  revulsion  to  the  incomplete  and 
wayward  tide  of  his  returning  thoughts.  He  remembered 
her  countenance  and  her  expressive  words  as  she  had 
looked  at  his  portrait  of  Mr.  Ashly !  His  heart  sickened 
and  grew  dark.  The  possibility — nay,  the  certainty  almost 
— that  his  own  unclasping  of  that  locked  book,  and  his 
own  laying  open  of  the  hidden  leaves  of  character,  had 
induced  her  to  read  with  new  eyes,  and  with  approval 
unfelt  before  !  'It  seemed  to  him  more  and  more  fatally 
true,  as  he  recalled  the  scene,  that,  to  the  gaze  of  the 
admiring  mourner,  it  was  a  revelation  of  Mr.  Ashly's  coun 
tenance  and  inner  nature  which  was  welcomed  with  delight. 
Her  looks,  her  words,  said  it.  They  had  betrayed  unmis 
takably  the  dawn  of  a  new  feeling.  She  already  loved  the 
absent  brother  of  her  friend  ! 

With  these  conflicting  and  darkening  feelings  brooding 
over  the  feeble  beatings  of  his  heart,  Paul  was  startled  by 
tho  scarce  perceptible  moving  of  the  latch.  The  door 
opened  timidly,  and,  with  the  streaming  of  the  dying  glow 


PAUL    FANE. 

of  the  west  into  the  darkened  room,  he  saw  the  outlines 
form  of  Sybil  in  her  mourning  weeds.  She  stood  listen 
ing  for  a  moment,  and  then  noiselessly  and  softly  entered. 
Paul  did  not  stir.  It  occurred  to  him  that  the  desk  of 
Colonel  Paleford  was  near  the  head  of  the  couch  on  which 
he  lay,  and  there  might  be  something  wanted  from  this,  to 
bring  those  gliding  feet  thus  noiselessly  into  the  room. 

She  probabl}7  thought  to  achieve  her  errand,  and  pass  out 

<f 
without  disturbing  the  sleeper. 

With  closed  lids,  and  the  thought  that,  by  the  delicacy 
which  propriety  required,  he  should  make  no  stir,  nor 
speak,  except  in  answer,  Paul  lay  breathlessly  still.  The 
spirit-ear  of  love,  even  without  the  whisper  of  her  moving 
dress,  would  have  told  him  of  her  approach !  His  heart 
beat  faster  and  warm,  as  the  folds  of  her  rustling  weeds 
touched  the  arm  that  hung  languidly  over  the  couch.  The 
desk  was  near,  but  she  stood  turned  to  his  pillow.  He 
thought  his  pulse  would  become  audible !  Her  gaze  was 
on  his  face.  He  thrilled  with  the  flood  of  light  from  her 
soft  eyes — his  lips  and  brow  bathed  as  by  a  magnetism  of 
indescribable  thrill.  Suddenly  she  stooped.  He  felt  her 
warm  breath  upon  his  cheek.  Two  swift  kisses  were 
impressed  upon  his  eyes — and,  like  a  shadow  of  a  cloud, 
she  vanished  from  the  room  ! 

To  thank  God  for  the  night  that  was  before  him — to 
long  for  the  morning  to  stay  away,  and  for  life  to  be  but 


PAUL    FANE.  329 

the  prolonging  of  that  sweet  dream  and  the  wild  joy  he 
had  now  to  be  alone  with — to  wrap  himself  in  bliss  beyond 
words,  with  the  certainty  that  SYBIL  PALEFORD  LOVED 
HIM — was  Paul's  tumult  of  thought,  with  those  kisses  on 
his  eyes ! 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

WITH  the  invalid  return  of  the  artist  to  Florence,  the 
next  morning,  the  first  sitting  of  Miss  Ashly  for  her  por 
trait  reverted  to  its  original  place  of  appointment,  the 
apartment  of  her  Aunt  Winifred ;  and,  as  Paul  was  likely 
to  have  the  earliest  knowledge  of  the  arrival  of  the 

reserved  spinster  from  Rome,  the  family  at  Casa  G 

were  to  depend  on  him  for  their  news  and  for  the  arrange 
ment  of  their  visits  to  town.  Looking  forward  with  some 
dread  at  present,  to  any  fresh  trial  of  his  nerves — (such  as 
full  control  over  his  pencil  would  be,  in  the  united  presence 
of  the  aunt  and  her  niece,  and  probably  Miss  Paleford) — 
he  was  very  glad  of  the  respite  given  him  by  a  few  days 
of  unaccountable  delay.  Miss  Ashly  neither  came  nor 
wrote  to  countermand  her  engaged  apartments.  Sitting 
over  his  coffee,  one  morning,  however,  and  giving  reins  to 
his  sensitive  imagination — wondering  whether  the  eccen- 


330  PAUL    FANE. 

trio  lady  might  not  have  flitted  rapidly  through,  on  a  sud 
den  return  to  England,  or  started  to  refresh  her  content 
with  single  blessedness  by  a  visit  to  the  Orient  and  Lady 
Hester  Stanhope — perhaps  taken  ill  with  the  malaria  at 
Rome,  perhaps  gone  into  a  convent,  perhaps  attacked  by 
the  banditti  in  the  mountains — Paul  was  relieved  of  his 
uncertainty  by  a  fresh  surprise.  The  servant  whom  he  had 
sent  to  the  post,  returned  with  the  following  letter  from 
her : — 

ROME, , . 

MY  DEAR  MR.  FANE  : 

I  presume  it  will  somewhat  startle  you  to  see  the  signature 
to  this  letter— ("  Winifred  Tetherly"  if,  before  arriving  at  the 
bottom  of  the  page  where  I  am  to  write  it,  I  do  not  first  awake  from 
a  dream) — though,  for  what  is  but  a  prompt  following  of  your 
advice,  you  have  no  very  reasonable  ground  for  surprise.  To  help 
a  lady  to  a  husband  you  will  think,  is  as  easy  as  to  pass  the  salt — 
so  easy,  and  for  one  who  thought  herself  the  most  difficult  womau 
in  the  world,  that  I  am  not  yet  fully  persuaded  of  it  myself.  But  I 
must  at  least,  tell  you  the  story  of  an  event  which  (according  to 
my  present  strong  impression  and  belief),  has  prevented  me  from 
keeping  my  appointment  with  you  as  Miss  Ashly. 

I  may  confess  to  having  felt  somewhat  offended  at  your  proposal 
of  Mr.  Tetherly  to  me,  in  your  reply  to  my  first  letter.  It  was  partly 
a  disparagement  of  yourself  to  think  another  could  take  your  place 
so  easily,  but  it  was  still  more  an  unflattering  comment  on  my 
readiness  for  a  lover.  When  hig  card  was  brought  to  me  with 
your  note  of  introduction,  ten  days  ago,  I  presumed  there  was  a 


P  A  U  L      F  A  N  E.  331 

complete  understanding  between  you,  and  I  should  have  declined 
receiving  his  visit  altogether,  but  that  I  was  not  willing  to  betray 
that  I  had  taken  offence. 

With  the  discovery  (which  I  made  almost  immediately)  that 
you  had  not  only  kept  my  secret,  but  had  breathed  nothing  to  him 
of  your  own  foreshadowing  of  his  destiny,  Mr.  Tetherly,  of  course, 
was  put  upon  the  ground  of  a  simply  well  introduced  new  acquaint 
ance.  And  I  did  not,  at  first,  particularly  fancy  him.  His  features 
and  bearing  struck  me  as  not  being  of  a  very  patrician  cast,  and  his 
voice  seemed  to  lack  the  indefinable  semitone  which  forms  the 
cadence  of  high-breeding.  Then  he  was  not  distinguished  for 
anything — a  proud  woman's  strongest  objection  to  a  man.  My 
faith  in  the  hidden  qualities  of  any  character  with  which  you  have 
exchanged*  a  friendship,  alone  kept  my  judgment  suspended  after 
this  first  unfavorable  impression. 

You  know  how  full  Rome  is  of  common  idling  ground.  We 
met  at  the  Coliseum — we  met  at  the  galleries  and  studios — we  met 
in  St.  Peter's  wildernesses  of  aisles  and  chapels — always  accident 
ally,  I  thought.  There  was  a  certain  pleasure,  which  I  did  not 
analyze  at  first,  in  what  there  was  of  you  in  his  mere  presence — 
having  come  from  you  so  recently — and  I  looked  into  his  eyes  as 
he  talked,  with  the  interest  I  should  feel  in  a  mirror  that  had  just 
reflected  you.  And  so  began,  not  my  liking  of  him,  but  my 
understanding  of  him ;  for  I  found  that  he  saw  with  your  peculiar 
eyes,  and  thought  and  felt  with  (how  shall  I  describe  it  ?)  your 
peculiar  religion  of  appreciation.  There  was  in  his  sincere  defer 
ence — his  sweet  and  hallowing  reverence  of  look  and  tone — a  some 
thing  better  and  nobler  than  the  stamp  of  high-breeding  which  I 
had  missed — the  unsandalled  feet,  as  it  were,  which  my  artificial 
eyes  had  found  so  bare,  being  but  the  acknowledgment  of  holy 


332  PAUL     FANE. 

ground.  It  is  so  sweeter  than  all  the  flattery  to  a  woman  to  be 
approached  as  sacred !  And  in  his  earnest  seriousness  of  attention, 
and  the  subdued  and  unwavering  completeness  of  his  belief  in  me, 
and  worship  of  the  heart  I  had  to  bestow,  there  was  a  persuasion 
against  which  my  pride-barriers  were  weak.  I  began  to  listen  to 
him  as  I  thought  I  should  never  listen  to  mortal  voice  again. 

This  was  ten  days  ago,  and  I  am  now — married!  Time,  I 
believe,  is  of  all  degrees  of  compressibility — "a  year  in  a  day," 
common,  at  least,  in  the  almanac  of  the  heart.  I  feel  as  if  had 
known  Mr.  Tetherly  from  the  time  when  I  might  have  known  him 
— the  time  when  we  might  have  loved — if  we  had  met,  that  is  to 
say,  with  the  removal  of  our  masks  by  your  magician's  wand.  He 
would  never  have  seen  my  heart  but  by  y«»r  pencil's  portrayal  of 
it,  I  am  very  sure.  His  own  would  have  been  certainly  misinter 
preted  by  me  but  for  your  reading  of  it.  And,  even  as  it  was,  I 
should  not  have  been  "in  tune"  for  loving  him,  I  fear,  but  that  I 
had  played  the  symphony  to  you ! 

We  have  married  suddenly.  It  was  not  merely  because  neither 
of  us  had  any  time  to  waste  (as  the  world  will  say),  but  there  might 
have  been  difficulties  if  it  had  not  been  put  at  once  past  interference 
by  relatives  and  friends.  And  this  brings  me  to  a  request  I  have 
to  make  of  your  kindness.  My  niece  is  with  the  Palefords.  Will 
you  announce  my  marriage  to  her,  and  with  your  own  estimate  of 
my  husband?  The  habits  of  reserve  in  our  family  would  prevent 
me  from  making  any  explanation  of  what  they  were  not  prepared 
to  appreciate.  You  have  doubtless,  by  this  time,  brought  your 
magnetism  of  influence  to  bear  upon  Mildred,  and  she  will  take, 
from  you,  the  opinion  of  Mr.  Tetherly  which,  it  is  very  necessary, 
should  await  us  at  home.  As  the  coolnesses  in  our  Ashly  blood  are 
life-long,  you  may  thus  do  the  family  a  timely  service,  the  value  of 


PAUL     FANE.  333 

which,  to  those  who  are  living,  could,  I  think,  scarcely  be  over 
rated. 

But,  ah !  if  the  magnetism  you  are  thus  to  exercise  over  my  niece 
could  be  warmed  into  love !  If  Mildred  (who  has  never  yet  felt  a 
tenderness  for  mortal  man,  I  believe)  could  feel  the  wave  of  your 
magician's  wand,  and,  while  endeared  to  you  by  being  under  your 
spell,  win  you  to  add  one  more  flower — yourself — to  our  family  tree! 
Tetherly  tells  me  it  is  a  childish  attachment  which  at  present  binds 
you,  and  which,  he  thinks,  will  not  end  in  marriage.  Mildred  has 
a  heart's  current,  strong  and  warm,  beneath  her  surface  of  ice.' 
Will  you  not  look  at  her  with  your  discerning  and  tender  eyes  ? 
The  citadel  I  thus  propose  for  your  conquest  is  proud  and  strong,  I 
know.  For  any  passing  knight-errant,  with  a  stranger's  crest  and 
plume,  it  would  be  hopelessly  impregnable.  But  you  have  a  friend 
within  the  gates — a  shield  you  have  already  pierced  hanging  broken, 
in  Ashly  hall !  Mildred  would  be  half  your  captive,  even  when 
sounding  her  first  defiance. 

My  pen  was  just  lifted  to  erase  these  few  sentences  last  written. 
What  I  am  thus  proposing  to  you — like  what  I  have  proposed  to 
you  before — is  against  all  rules  of  love  in  books,  as  it  is  most 
fiignally  against  all  my  previous  nurture  and  instincts.  I  simply 
know  that  I  am  still  natural  and  true — though,  like  the  butterfly, 
on  his  new  wings,  with  only  his  memory  as  a  worm,  I  am  surprised 
that  the  air  should  sustain  me. 

Yet  why  should  I  not  own  that  I  have  loved  you?  Why  may  I 
not  desire,  since  I  could  not  have  your  love,  to  have  your  life  passed 
near  me,  with  the  love  left  out  ?  For  that  much  of  a  mind  and 
heart  that  is  made  one's  own  by  wedlock  is  but  a  small  part  of  what 
was  loved  in  the  lover — hardly  lessening  what  is  to  be  lived  with  in 
the  friend.  The  heaven  where  they  "  neither  marry  nor  are  given 


334  PAUL     FANE. 

in  marriage" — intercourse  with  the  completeness  of  which,  mind 
and  soul  are  quite  content — may  be  foreshadowed  in  this  world. 
What  I  might  daily  and  freely  share,  were  you  married  to  one  of 
my  kindred — your  looks,  your  thoughts,  your  words,  your  presence, 
your  genius,  with  all  its  gifts  of  insight  and  appreciation — would  be 
making  you  bountifully  mine !  And  with  Tetherly's  partaking,  too ; 
for  he  loves  you — that  much — as  well  as  I. 

We  shall  follow  close  upon  this  letter  to  Florence,  and  you  will 
please  retain  for  me,  therefore,  the  apartments  already  engaged. 
The  remaining  sittings  for  my  portrait  can  thus  be  taken  with  the 
same  light.  (Shall  I  look  to  you  the  same  ?)  Mildred  is  to  sit  to 
you  there,  also,  I  understand.  And  of  course  you  will  see  the  need 
of  immediateness  in  your  announcement  of  my  marriage  to  her. 
It  will  be  a  carefully  woven  woof  of  tact  and  kindness,  I  well  know 
— but  will  you  not  broider  upon  it,  also,  a  flower  for  yourself?" 

"Ah,  what  a  letter  this  is — from  me  to  any  man!  I  could  not 
write  so  to  Tetherly — quite  yet !  But,  my  dear  Mr.  Fane,  the 
grating  of  my  heart's  long-locked  convent  cell  let  you  in  like  the 
sunshine.  Though  my  veil  is  just  thrown  aside  that  I  may  come 
out,  you  are  less  a  stranger  than  the  open  day  which  meets  me  at 
the  door. 

May  God  bless  you — whether  you  are  to  be  the  light  of  our  dark 
Ashly  eyes  or  not ! 

Yours  most  truly, 

WINIFRED  TETHERLY. 

It  was  fortunate  for  Paul  that  immediate  and  com 
paratively  simple  action  (the  visit  to  Casa  G )  was 

his  first   duty  after  the  reading  of  this  letter.     He  was 


PAUL    PANE.  335 

not  ready,  either  with  nerves  or  opinions,  to  think  of  all 
it  called  upon  him  to  realize.  He  mechanically  went 
about  his  preparations  for  a  day  in  the  country,  with 
the  Palefords.  And  in  another  hour,  he  was  whirling 
over  the  bridge  of  the  Arno,  the  once-more  strangely 
thoughtful  and  silent  passenger  in  the  vetturino  of  his 
friend  Giuseppe. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

ANY  secret  embarrassment  that  there  might  have  been, 
in  the  meeting  of  Paul  with  the  bride  and  bridegroom, 
was  quite  overlaid  by  the  grateful  pleasure  with  which 
they  acknowledged  the  success  of  his  delicate  mission  to 

Casa  G .     Tetherly  had  been  made  fully  aware  of  the 

importance  of  it,  and  it  was  a  new  tie  between  him  and  his 
friend ;  for  the  possibility  of  a  cold  reception  by  the  most 
influential  member  of  the  family  into  which  he  had  mar 
ried,  had  been  the  phantom  of  unrest  to  his  honeymoon, 
thus  far — his  particularly  sensitive  nature  dreading  nothing 
so  much  as  the  position  of  a  just  tolerated  intruder.  In 
spite,  however,  of  interested  reasons  why  there  would  have 
been  objections  to  Miss  Winifred's  marrying  at  all,  and  in 
spite  of  the  bridegroom's  disadvantages  of  family  and  posi- 


336  PAUL    FANE. 

tion,  the  meeting  with  Miss  Mildred,  on  their  arrival  in 
Florence,  was  every  way  cordial  and  satisfactory.  The 
truth  was,  that  Paul  had  touched  the  secret  spring  of 
family  pride  with  which  he  had  confidentially  been  made 
acquainted  by  the  niece  herself,  dwelling  mainly  on  the 
perfection,  of  manly  proportion,  in  Tetherly's  person,  and 
on  his  rare  loftiness  of  nature  as  to  all  qualities  that  con 
tribute  most  to  form  the  inborn  nobleman. 

The  finishing  of  the  portrait  of  the  bride  was  now  a 
pleasant  side-current  of  occupation ;  and  the  deferred 
sitting  of  Miss  Ashly,  at  her  aunt's  apartments,  followed 
in  due  course,  as  previously  arranged.  But  this  latter 
part  of  his  artistic  engagement  was,  in  more  than  one  way, 
a  critical  trial  of  Paul's  self-control.  The  footing  of  dis 
tance  and  ceremonv  on  which  he  now  stood  with  Miss 
Mildred  was  very  difficult  to  harmonize  with  the  confiding 
intimacy  of  the  Tetherlys,  and  still  more  with  the  influence 
of  Miss  Paleford's  presence,  she  coming  to  town  most 
commonly  with  her  friend.  The  watchful  discrimination 
necessary  to  suit  his  words  and  manner  to  such  varied 
degrees  of  intimacy,  promised  at  first  to  be  fatal  altogether, 
to  that  concentration  of  thought  so  important  to  the  suc 
cess  of  his  pencil.  Between  his  genius,  too,  and  his  feeling 
toward  Miss  Ashly,  there  was  a  struggle  as  to  the  phase  of 
character  which  that  picture  was  to  portray.  In  Tact,  after 
the  first  sitting,  he  found  it  indispensable  that  there  should 


PATJLFANE.  337 

be  some  other  object  of  attention  than  himself  in  the  room 
— something  to  scatter  the  focus  of  all  eyes  and  thoughts 
bent  upon  his  work — and  it  occurred  to  him,  at  last,  that 
the  presence  of  his  friend  Bosh  might  serve  this  purpose. 
It  was  not  uncommon  for  two  artists  to  make  drawings 
from  the  same  subject  ;  and,  on  Paul's  requesting  the 
privilege — as  a  favor  to  a  brother  student  in  whom  he 
was  interested,  and  who  was  to  profit  especially  by  the 
comparison  thus  made  instructive  between  his  own  work 
and  his  friend's — the  ladies  at  once  assented. 

As  a  fresh  drop  of  oil  upon  Bosh's  sorest  annoyance, 
this  was  incidentally  useful.  He  required  soothing,  from 
time  to  time,  upon  the  point  of  Paul's  having  friends  and 
acquaintances  who  were  not  also  his  own.  The  presence 
of  Mary  Evenden,  lately,  in  the  studio  of  "  Signor  Valerio," 
had  been  also  a  conciliatory  advantage ;  for,  with  the 
atmosphere  of  sainted  purity  which  the  presence  of  this 
fair  creature  threw  over  the  room,  the  jealous  artist  was 
safely  introduced  to  the  model-bust  of  his  lady-love, 
without  taking  offence.  And  the  knowledge  that  it  was 
the  work  of  a  female  hand  (of  "Signor  Valerio,"  a  lady 
in  disguise)  was  so  certified  to  Bosh  by  Mary's  familiarity 
with  the  place,  that  he  was  less  reluctant  to  forego  a 
presentation  to  the  princess  herself,  which,  though  it  would 
have  better  pleased  his  dignity,  might  have  been  an  objec 
tionable  intrusion  upon  her  highness's  privacy  of  pursuit. 

15 


338  PAUL     FANE. 

With  his  easel  in  the  rear  of  Paul's,  at  somewhat  a 
different  angle  of  light,  but  getting  pretty  much  the 
same  view,  Bosh  went  industriously  to  work,  on  the 
morning  of  the  second  sitting.  There  was  great  relief, 
both  in  the  amusing  study  which  he  himself  afforded 
to  the  ladies,  and  in  the  interest  of  the  two  pictures. 
But  Paul  soon  began  to  discover  that  he  was  to  draw 
an  unforeseen  advantage  from  the  twin  portraiture. 
Blivins  was  a  literal  artist,  as  to  expression.  He  had 
neither  imagination  nor  penetration  into  character.  While 
he  flattered  the  complexion  and  features,  therefore,  as 
far  as  was  any  way  reasonable,  he  told  the  most  uncom 
promising  truth  as  to  the  superficial  impression.  It  was 
how  his  sitter  looked,  to  people  in  general.  Of  course, 
between  'his  likeness  and  Paul's  there  was  all  the  difference 
of  a  lady  painted  with  a  mask  or  without  one. 

Miss  Ashly  carne  round,  from  time  to  time,  and  informed 
herself  of  the  progress  of  the  artists.  But  her  manner 
softened  very  perceptibly  to  Paul,  as  she  saw  the  more 
generous  and  nobler  depths  of  her  nature  coming  out 
under  his  pencil.  With  a  constant  and  self-denying  effort, 
he  remembered  her  as  she  had  looked  when  speaking  to 
jim  of  Sybil  Paleford  ;  and,  while  he  consulted  her 
Resent  face  for  its  lines  and  shadows,  he  drew  only 
>pon  the  countenance  in  his  memory  for  its  language 
and  meaning.  To  the  two  artists,  she  was  evidently  as 


PAUL       FANE.  S39 

different  a  creature  as  could  well  be  imagined ;  but,  in 
feeling  provokingly  conscious  of  the  fidelity  of  Mr.  Blivins's 
likeness,  she  was  far  more  conscious  of  the  truth  of  Mr. 
Fane's.  Her  heart  told  her  that  he  had  profoundly  read 
what  was  written  on  its  inmost  page ;  and,  by  this  proof 
of  his  superiority  of  genius  to  what  constituted  a  literal 
copyist,  like  the  other  artist,  she  now  understood  by  what 
spell  he  had  so  controlled  her.  And,  that  the  same 
spell — rejected  as  it  had  been  for  a  while — was  now 
resuming  its  power  over  her,  Paul  saw  with  an  inex 
pressible  soothing  of  his  pride. 

Another  subject,  however,  of  far  deeper  interest  than 
either  Paul  or  the  two  portraits  of  herself,  began  to 
engross  the  attention  of  Miss  Ashly.  The  different  per 
sons  who  were  present  at  these  artistic  matinees,  were  not 
collectively  aware  how  curiously  each  had  some  secret  rea 
son  for  affectionate  familiarity  and  intimacy  with  Paul.  In 
every  heart  (except  Miss  Mildred's  own)  he  had  a  hidden 
niche  of  grateful  attachment — giving,  in  spite  of  all  the 
commonplace-ness  of  well-bred  gossip,  a  deeper  tone  to 
•  the  words  and  manner  with  which  he  was  occasionally 
addressed.  Her  aunt's  confidingness  of  look  and  voice,  in 
conversing  with  him,  was  simply  an  inexplicable  wonder 
to  the  observing  niece.  But  all  this  might  still  have  been 
left  to  pass  in  silent  surprise,  as  merely  another  exercise  of 
what  she  had  herself  experienced  of  Mr.  Fane's  power  of 


340  PAUL     FAKE. 

magnetism,  but  for  the  atmosphere  of  unreserve  which  it 
created,  and  in  which  the  unguarded  nature  of  Sybil 
Paleford  expanded  with  unmistrusting  simplicity.  "  The 
unvoiced  persuasion  to  show  her  heart,"  such  as  the  flower 
feels  in  the  air  of  spring,  was  in  the  manner  of  all  around 
her. 

It  was  on  the  last  day  of  the  sittings,  and  the  portrait  of 
Miss  Mildred  was  finished,  to  all  eyes  but  the  artist's.  The 
approaching  conclusion  to  what  had  so  pleasantly  drawn 
them  together,  morning  after  morning,  was  regretted  by 
all ;  and  to  the  manner  of  all,  except  one,  it  had  given  a 
softer  shade  of  though tfulness  and  sentiment.  With  each 
succeeding  day,  to  Miss  Ashly,  the  unconscious  betrayal  of 
Sybil's  feelings  towards  Paul  had  become  clearer ;  and, 
with  the  kindly  softening  of  the  general  key-note  of  con 
versation,  there  was  an  outrunning  sympathy,  in  the  frank 
girl's  face  and  tone,  which  brought  the  long-resisted  sus 
picion  almost  to  the  full. 

The  effect  which  this  unpleasantly  increasing  conviction 
was  producing  on  his  subject,  as  she  sat,  grew  embarrassing 
to  Paul's  pencil,  however.  He  was  coming  to  the  last' 
touch  or  two  which  should  set  the  confirming  seal  and 
cipher  on  the  character  of  the  expression.  For  this  criti 
cal  point,  more  than  for  all  the  labor  that  had  gone  before, 
he  required  that  the  face  before  him  should  be  his  copy. 
But  how  different  was  it  now,  even  from  the  countenance 


PAUL    FANE.  341 

which  had  been  literally  transferred  to  the  canvas  of  his 
friend  Blivins  !  In  the  eye  there  was  a  more  stony  hard 
ness  of  concealment — in  the  nostril  a  scarce  perceptible 
line  of  more  resentful  inflation — and  in  the  haughty  lip  a 
curl  of  indomitable  pride  wholly  unmistakable  !  To  modify 
or  ignore  characteristics  so  decided,  seemed  to  have  grown 
suddenly  absurd.  The  drawing  scarce  looked  any  longer 
to  be  a  likeness. 

With  his  pencil  wavering  in  the  twirl  of  his  fingers,  and 
his  power  of  abstraction  fast  yielding  to  the  more  forcible 
character  of  what  he  saw,  Paul  thought  he  would  make  a 
last  trial  to  forget  the  face  before  him,  and  recall,  for  a  fin 
ishing  touch,  the  memory  of  its  expression  which  he  had 
once  treasured  away.  It  cost  a  struggle,  and  he  became, 
for  a  moment,  disregardful  of  all  but  his  inner  thought. 
There  was  a  slight  wave  of  his  hand,  intended,  half-con- 
sciously,  as  a  courteous  intimation  to  his  sitter  that  she 
need  no  longer  keep  her  chair ;  and  he  then  stepped 
quickly  back  and  seated  himself,  and,  with  the  effort  to 
rally  his  recollection,  pressed  his  hand  before  his  eyes. 

But,  to  the  watchful  and  beautiful  mourner  who  had 
seen  his  strength  fail  him,  but  a  few  days  before,  and  who 
had  still,  secretly,  a  tender  care  and  remembrance  of  him 
as  an  invalid,  this  sudden  change  of  posture  and  the  press 
ure  of  the  fingers  on  the  eyelids,  were  signs  of  illness. 

"  Dear  Paul !"  she  murmured,  in  sounds  that  just  escaped 


342  PAUL     FANE. 

her  lips,  as  she  rushed  with  one  bound  across  the  room,  and 
clasped  his  head  in  her  hands. 

But,  though  the  instant  rise  of  Paul  to  his  feet  made 
her  mistake  apparent,  and  there  was  a  laugh  of  familiar 
amusement  among  the  less  attentive  company,  the  two 
expressive  words  so  indistinctly  uttered  had  not  escaped 
the  ear  of  Miss  Ashly.  Nor  had  the  single  instant's 
exchange  of  looks  between  the  two,  as  they  stood  together 
by  the  easel,  escaped  her  eye.  It  was  a  half-playful  assur 
ance  of  Sybil's  that  such  would  be  the  loving  earnestness 
with  which,  if  he  were  indeed  ill  or  sad,  she  would  forget 
the  whole  world  to  spring  to  his  side ;  it  was  an  acknow 
ledgment  of  Paul's,  that,  with  all  his  heart,  for  tbat  mo 
ment  at  least,  he  gratefully  and  fondly  worshipped  her. 

There  was  an  instant's  parting  and  closing  of  the  tightly 
compressed  lips  -of  Miss  Ashly,  seen  by  Paul  with  a  chance 
turn  of  his  head,  at  the  next  moment — the  smothered 
utterance  of  an  outburst  of  impatient  pride — but,  though 
wholly  inaudible  to  all  around,  it  was,  to  his  sharpened 
perception,  as  clear  as  if  the  vibration  of  air  had  written  it 
on  the  wall — the  gasping  admission  that  she  knew,  at  last, 
that  Sybil  loved  him  ! 


The  game  of  cross-purposes  of  which  Paul's  »life  seemed 
to  be  a  most  obstinately  tangled  example,  was  still  played 


PAUL    FANE.  343 

on,  in  the  few  following  days,  and  with  a  somewhat  trying, 
but  more  quiet  variation. 

"With  the  finishing  of  the  portraits  for  his  friends,  and 
the  success  with  which  his  genius  for  Art  was  now  unde 
niably  stamped,  the  responsibility  of  the  son  to  his  mother, 
as  well  as  to  himself,  made  its  call  upon  him.  He  felt  that 
it  was  time  to  relieve  her  of  the  burden  of  his  support — 
that,  with  the  timely  seizure  of  opportunity,  his  ambition 
demanded  that  he  should  commence  his  profession  now. 
There  seemed  to  be  both  reasons  and  facilities  for  his  try 
ing  his  wings  first  in  Europe — deferring  the  return  to  his 
own  country  for  a  couple  of  years,  or  till  his  views  of  Art 
had  become  correctly  and  definitely  confirmed — but,  in  the 
question  of  where  the  scene  of  his  first  efforts  should  be, 
or  in  what  city  he  should  first  open  his  studio  as  a  portrait- 
painter,  he  found  that  his  heart  must  have  a  share.  Sybil 
Paleford — it  must  be  with  reference  to  her  that  this  move 
ment  must  be  decided  upon  !  To  be  near  her,  or  far  from 
her — there  was  indeed  a  problem  of  happiness  to  be  solved 
by  that !  Prompt  and  uncompromising  with  himself  as 
Paul  was,  in  his  decisions  for  his  own  welfare  only,  there 
was  a  few-days'  struggle  on  this  subject,  which  was,  for  a 
while,  of  very  doubtful  termination.  Before  giving  the 
result  to  the  reader,  let  us  follow  another  thread  that  was 
weaving,  little  regarded  by  him,  at  the  same  time. 

The  Tetherlys,  since  their  arrival  in  Florence,  had  been 


344  PAUL     FANE. 

occupied  very  fully  with  receiving  the  hospitalities  extended 
to  them  as  bride  and  bridegroom  ;  but  they  seemed  to  have 
but  one  inind  as  to  the  necessity  of  seeing  Paul  at  their 
table,  at  least  once  a  day.  He  was  very  certain  to  pass 
the  evening  with  them,  in  company ;  but  if  they  were  not 
to  meet  at  dinner,  he  must  breakfast  with  them — Miss 
Mildred  most  commonly  being  one  of  the  party.  By  the 
pressure  of  the  bride's  engagements,  too,  or  by  some  appa 
rent  accident,  it  oftenest  happened  that  the  niece,  after 
dinner  or  breakfast,  was  left  to  Paul's  attentions  exclu 
sively,  and  a  daily  tete-a-tete  for  an  hour  or  two,  seemed, 
somehow,  curiously  certain  to  come  to  pass. 

As  will  be  easily  understood,  Paul  had  only  a  portion  of 
a  mind  to  give  to  Miss  Ashly,  with  the  struggle  of  his 
tenderer  interests  going  on  beneath  the  surface — his  com 
panionship,  of  course,  amounting  merely  to  an  exercise  of 
the  habitual  civility  of  his  manners,  with  the  instinctive 
earnestness  of  sincerity,  and  willingness  to  be  impressed, 
which  formed  the  language  of  his  nature.  In  proportion 
to  his  retiracy  and  apparent  willingness  to  withdraw  from 
any  intricate  reciprocation  of  thought  or  feeling,  however, 
his  proud  companion  seemed  to  relax  her  reserve,  and 
grow  kindly  and  genial.  Paul  became  aware,  without 
reasoning  upon  it,  at  first,  that  his  footing  in  Miss  Ashly's 
regard  and  confidence,  grew  daily  more  assured  and  agree 
able.  But,  while  the  growing  discovery  still  reached  the 


PAULFANE.  345 

hidden  weakness  at  the  bottom  of  his  heart,  it  was,  for 
the  time,  at  least,  of  very  secondary  interest.  He  hardly 
realized  it  enough  in  fact,  even  to  connect  it  with  the  recol 
lection  of  the  good-natured  proposal  in  Mrs.  Tetherly's  letter 
— the  thought  of  playing  the  lover  to  Miss  Ashly  having 
been  dismissed  with  a  smile ;  but  still,  her  aunt  having 
undoubtedly  followed  up  her  own  wish  at  present,  by  the 
exercise  of  secret  influence  in  his  favor. 

It  was  a  sunset  with  the  promise  of  a  coming  spring  in 
its  softness  and  warmth,  and  Paul  sat  with  Miss  Mildred  in 
the  balconied  window  looking  down  upon  the  Arno.  Mrs. 
Tetherly,  with  whom  they  had  dined,  had  pleaded  an 
engagement  and  taken  her  carriage  to  be  gone  for  an 
hour ;  Tetherly  had  strolled  over  to  the  English  Embassy 
for  his  daily  gossip  upon  news  and  politics ;  and  the  two 
younger  guests  were  once  more  tete-a-tete,  without  any  par 
ticular  willingness  or  contrivance  of  their  own. 

An  inquiry  after  Miss  Paleford,  who  had  not  accompa 
nied  her  friend  to  town  that  day,  very  naturally  suggested 
another  question  as  to  Mr.  Arthur  Ashly — a  letter  announ 
cing  his  intended  speedy  return  to  Florence  having  been 
received  a  few  days  before. 

And,  apropos  of  Sybil  and  my  brother,  Mr.  Fane,"  said 
Miss  Ashly,  in  whose  mind  the  mention  of  these  two  together 
seemed  to  break  down  suddenly  a  barrier  of  reserve,  "  I  was 
silly  enough  not  to  remember,  when  I  once  sought  your 

15* 


346  PAUL    FANE. 

influence  for  the  prospering  of  Arthur's  passion,  that  so 
lovely  a  girl  was  most  probably,  also,  a  preference  of  your 
own." 

"  I  gave  you  proof,  I  believe,"  said  Paul,  with  a  smile, 
that  my  interest  in  his  behalf  was  quite  sincere." 

"  True — your  admirable  portrait  of  him,"  she  replied,  in 
a  tone  and  with  a  look  of  apology,  "  but  what  is  the  work 
of  the  pencil — most  eloquent  plea,  as  yours  certainly  was, 
in  a  rival's  favor — when  the  painter  follows  it  up  by  outri- 
valling  the  picture  3" 

"  I  had  no  thought  of  doing  so  at  the  time,"  said  Paul, 
"  allowing  for  the  sake  of  argument,  that  your  supposition 
is  correct.  Mr.  Ashly  was  absent,  however,  when  his  por 
trait  and  I  came  into  competition.  Possibly,  in  a  rivalry 
with  his  more  persuasive  and  living  presence,  the  result 
might  have  had  less  the  appearance  of  being  in  my  favor." 

Miss  Ashly  started,  and  gave  Paul  a  quick  and  penetra 
ting  look.  The  possibility  he  suggested  seemed  a  new 
thought  to  her,  but  she  was  doubtful  of  the  willingness  for 
that  different  result  which  his  words  seemed  to  imply. 

u  You  will  pardon  me,  if  I  do  you  injustice,"  she  said 
presently,  with  an  effort  at  frankness,  which  he  saw  cost  all 
the  self-mastery  she  possessed,  "  but  I  did  not  think  you — 
I  do  not  think  any  human  being  in  fact — capable  of  disin 
terestedness  toward  a  rival  in  love.  To  be  frank  with  you, 
I  have  talked  this  over  with  Colonel  Paleford — differing 


PAUL     FANE.  347 

from  him  somewhat.  He  thought  you  sincere  in  your  fur 
therance  of  my  brother's  suit;  though  I  believe,  he  has 
been  a  little  staggered  in  his  belief  of  it — or  rather  the 
probability  of  it — by  since  becoming  aware  of  Sybil's  own 
interest  in  the  matter.  For — pardon  me  ! — do  you  not 
know  that  she  loves  you,  Mr.  Fane  ?" 

"  Allow  me  to  alter  your  question  a  little,"  said  Paul, 
"  by  the  addition  of  the  probability  in  your  brother's  favor 
which  I  have  just  suggested  : — Would  Miss  Paleford  love 
Mr.  Fane — (a  confession  she  has  never  yet  framed  into 
words,  I  give  you  my  honor !) — if  Mr.  Ashly  had  fairly 
tried  the  winning  of  her,  with  the  field  to  himself?" 

The  proud  sister  rose  to  her  feet,  and  took  one  turn 
across  the  .-oom.  The  intensity  of  interest  for  her  brother, 
and  for  the  cause  on  which  she  had  so  set  her  heart,  was, 
evidently,  for  the  moment,  less  powerful  than  the  haughty 
refusal  of  soul  to  even  accept  what  must  be  thus  signifi 
cantly  yielded.  "  From  him !"  "  From  an  artist !"  looked 
her  fierce  eyes,  as  she  turned  away. 

But  there  was  a  change,  like  the  sky's  clearness  after  the 
passing  of  a  thunder-cloud,  in  the  smile  with  which  she 
returned.  The  hidden  qualities  of  heart  that  Paul  had 
seen  down  to,  and  brought  to  the  surface,  in  his  portrait  of 
her,  had  surged  uppermost,  and  were  now  shining  brightly 
through  her  features.  He  had  said  little — he  had  offered 
nothing — but  the  whole  book  of  his  inner  nature,  and  of 


348  PAUL     FANE. 

his  feeling  as  to  the  subject  before  them,  was  read  by  her 
at  a  glance. 

"  Inexpressibly  generous  to  grant,"  she  said,  taking  his 
hand  with  a  warm  grasp  in  both  her  own,  "  but  I  will  ask 
it  of  you  !" 

With  a  silent  and  respectful  pressure  of  his  lips  to  the 
slight  fingers  drawn  with  such  nervous  closeness  to  his 
own,  Paul  placed  in  her  hand  a  letter  which  he  already 
held  prepared. 

"  Here,"  he  said,  "  is  what  I  have  written  on  this  very 
subject  to  Colonel  Paleford.  For  the  last  few  days  it  has 
been  my  one  thought,  sleeping  and  waking — with  how 
much  of  trial  and  effort,  I  need  not  say — but  it  is  done ! 
I  was  to  send  it  to  him  to-morrow,  and  it  was  written  for 
his  eyes  only ;  but  our  conversation  has  made  me  willing 
that  you  should  first  read  it,  and  you  will,  perhaps,  take  it 
to  him  to-night,  on  your  return.  Let  me  leave  it  with 
you  ! " 

Paul  bowed,  and  lifted  once  more  to  his  lips  the  hand  he 
held,  and  in  another  moment  was  alone  in  the  street — 
alone  in  the  whole  world,  it  seemed  to  him — with  his  over 
crowded  heart. 

And,  coming  close  to  the  balconied  window,  where  she 
could  see  by  the  lessening  twilight,  Miss  Ashly  read  as 
follows : 


PAUL    FANE.  349 


FLORENCE, , . 

MY  DEAR  COLONEL  : 

When  I  once  before  had  occasion  to  trouble  you  with  a  letter,  it 
was  (if  you  remember)  to  explain  my  waiving  of  a  happiness  to 
which  I  had  properly  no  claim — a  place  at  court,  of  which  your 
daughter  generously  supposed  that  I  might  do  the  honors.  A 
false  position  of  a  still  more  delicate  nature  is  my  embarrass 
ment,  at  present — a  much  higher  happiness,  and  accorded  to  me 
also  by  the  noble  generosity  of  your  family — and  to  waive  this 
also,  as  unquestionably  and  entirely,  would,  perhaps,  be  my  simple 
duty  in  now  writing  to  you.  But  there  is  a  presumptuous  qualifi 
cation  of  this  second  disclaimer,  upon  Avhich  I  believe  I  must  ven 
ture,  though  I  do  so  by  placing  myself  and  the  consequences 
entirely  in  your  hands. 

The  enclosed  most  sacred  letter,  which  I  received  from  the 
mother-angel  of  your  household,  just  before  she  was  lost  to  your 
sight,  will  explain  to  you,  at  least,  what  may  be  too  credulous  an 
estimate  of  my  responsibility  to  her  child.  Mrs.  Paleford,  with  her 
kind  and  unworldly  eyes,  looked  upon  me  as  one  with  whom  she 
could  entrust  the  life  and  happiness  most  precious  to  her — (may 
God  make  me  worthy  of  so  hallowing  a  belief  in  my  truth  and 
goodness!) — and  she  even  encouraged  me  to  feel  that  there  might 
be  already  awakened  for  me,  in  the  heart  of  her  daughter,  an 
unconfessed  preference.  That  this  gives  me  the  privilege  to  say 
to  you  what  I  might  not  else  find  the  courage  to  say — that  I  love 
the  wondrously  beautiful  and  pure  creature  of  whom  it  speaks 
with  my  whole  heart — will  be  a  pride  to  remember,  though  it  may 
be  a  love  that  would  not  otherwise  find  a  voice. 

But,  though  I  have  never  spoken  of  love  to  your  daughter,  and 


050  PAULFANE. 

she  has  never  spoken  of  it  to  me,  you  will  pardon  me  if  I  offer 
some  reasonable  introduction  for  the  proposition  I  have  to  make, 
by  suggesting — (thus,  to  you  only) — the  possibility  that  capricious 
Nature  may  have  made  this  unambitious  disposal  of  her  heart! 
The  lover's  eyes  are  full  of  hope,  and  you  will  understand  me, 
therefore,  with  the  proper  allowance  and  with  your  ever-courteous 
indulgence,  when  I  declare  my  belief  that  Miss  Sybil  is  not  indif 
ferent  to  me.  I  believe  it  upon  the  sweet  evidence  which,  to  a 
lover,  is  more  precious  than  words. 

The  return  of  Mr.  Ashly  to  Florence,  expected  daily,  is,  however, 
the  renewal  of  addresses  more  worthy  of  her,  I  need  not  be  at  the 
trouble  to  confess.  The  outside  reasons  for  a  preference  of  this 
gentleman — fortune,  position,  birth,  and  family  intimacy — are  very 
powerful ;  and,  were  her  character  any  other  than  the  wonder  of 
unsunned  freshness  of  peculiarity  that  it  is,  I  should  simply  leave 
to  another  the  prize  that  was  not  for  my  approaching.  But  Miss 
Sybil  is  one  of  those  rare  women  who  wear  the  humblest  flower 
where  the  costliest  gem  would  be  denied  a  place.  It  is  possible,  as 
I  have  given  you  my  ground  for  believing,  that  I  may  be  more 
loved  than  Mr.  Ashly— just  possible  (I  quote  her  mother's  belief  in 
supposing)  that  the  devotion  of  my  life  to  her  happiness  may  be 
more  welcome  than  his. 

But  Mr.  Ashly  has  not  yet  had  a  fair  trial,  either  of  his  quali 
ties  or  his  powers  of  pleasing.  Opportunity,  indeed,  has  been  so 
much  in  my  own  favor,  thus  far,  that  the  preference  over  him, 
even  if  it  were  not  ungenerous  in  me  to  claim  it,  would  be  an 
unwise  haste  toward  your  daughter.  He  has  a  noble  and  deep 
character,  hidden  under  a  mask  of  pride  and  incommunicativeness. 
I  have  endeavored  to  show,  in  my  portrait  of  him,  what  I  am 
very  sure  that  more  intimacy  would  develop.  Miss  Pale  ford 


PAUL    FANE.  351 

should,  at  least,  know  truly  the  value  of  what  she  has  the  free 
choice  to  refuse  or  make  her  own. 

You  will  have  anticipated  what  I  wish  to  say,  my  dear  friend ! 
With  Mr.  Ashly's  arrival,  I  shall  take  my  departure  from  Florence. 
It  is  the  time  for  the  entrance  upon  my  profession,  and  the  reason 
for  a  change  of  place  will  seem  natural  to  your  daughter.  I  leave 
to  your  courtesy  and  kindness,  entirely,  the  making  of  my  adieus 
to  her — knowing,  of  course,  that  you  will  so  shape  them  that  I 
shall  seem  neither  neglectful  of  her,  nor  forgetful  of  the  hospi 
tality  of  your  home.  I  shall  go  to  England,  I  think — my  views  of 
Art  seeming  most  suited  to  the  taste  of  your  countrymen — and  I 
shall  pass  a  year  or  two,  probably,  in  that  country,  before  return 
ing  to  my  own.  But  I  will  keep  you  advised  of  my  movements. 
My  life — and  you  know  precisely  what  it  is  to  be,  with  my  profes 
sion  and  nothing  more — shall  be  kept  ready,  at  your  call  (and  a 
year  or  two  will  decide  it),  either  to  take  up  its  bitter  task  of  for- 
getfulness,  or  to  be  made  blest  with  the  love  which  I  may,  mean 
time,  dream  of.  With  no  more  farewell  than  this,  but  with  inex 
pressible  thanks  for  all  your  friendship  has  been  to  me,  I  thus 
abruptly  take  my  leave. 

May  God  bless  you  and  your  peerless  daughter,  my  dear  colonel, 
and  pray  believe  me,  ever  yours  most  gratefully  and  devotedly, 

PAUL  FANE. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

WITH  the  next  day's  arrangements  for  departure  from 
Florence,  Paul  found  that  his  leave-takings  of  intimate 
friends  were  to  be  less  general  than  he  had  anticipated. 
The  Tetherlys  at  once  concluded  to  bear  him  company 
on  his  journey.  Blivins,  in  a  week  or  two,  was  to  follow 
the  Firkin  family  to  France,  where  his  marriage  to  Miss 
Sophia  was  to  take  place.  With  the  season  a  little  more 

advanced,  the  Princess  C proposed  to  change  her 

studio  to  Paris,  where  she  might  have  all  the  facilities 
of  Art,  and,  at  the  same  time,  be  within  reach  of  the 
society  of  London  and  the  French  capital.  And  Mary 
Evenden  hoped,  there,  to  resume  her  studies  with  "  Signer 
Valerio,"  as  Mrs.  Cleverly,  after  a  short  trip  to  Rome  and 
Naples,  was  to  join  the  rest  of  the  gay  world,  in  centering, 
for  the  first  months  of  summer,  near  the  Tuileries  and  St. 
James's. 

Miss  Ashly  came  to  town  to  be  present  at  the  departure 
of  the  Tetherlys,  and  she  was  the  bearer  of  a  letter  to  Paul 

852 


PAUL     FANE.  353 

from  Colonel  Paleford.  She  had  evidently  relied  upon  an 
opportunity  to  speak  to  him  alone  for  a  moment,  probably 
to  acknowledge,  in  words,  the  accordance  of  her  feelings 
with  the  communication  to  Sybil's  father,  which  she  had 
been  permitted  to  read ;  but  Paul's  heart  was  too  full  of 
all  that  made  up  his  farewell  to  Florence,  that  morning, 
and  he  carefully  avoided  the  tete-a-tete,  entrenching  him 
self  within  the  forms  of  kindly  ceremony  and  politeness. 
He  took  the  letter  she  had  brought  for  himself,  as  she 
stood  at  the  carriage-door,  at  the  last  moment,  and  it  was 
not  till  the  first  stoppage,  at  a  secluded  albergo  in  the 
mountains,  that  he  stole  away  to  a  lonely  spot,  under 
the  trees,  and  had  the  courage  to  break  the  seal.  The 
colonel  thus  wrote : 

CASA  G , . 

MY  DEAR  FANE: 

Your  letter  was  so  in  accordance  with  what  had  already  passed 
between  us,  that  I  was  not  surprised  at  its  tone  and  contents. 
There  was  a  startling  unlikeness,  in  it,  to  the  common  language 
of  lovers,  as  well  as  to  the  common  usage  of  the  world,  but  we 
were  prepared  for  its  delicate  generosity,  by  knowing  the  standard 
up  to  which  you  live.  Allow  me  to  begin  by  thanking  you,  frankly, 
and  with  all  my  heart,  for  the  fresh  proof  of  it  which  touches  me 
so  nearly — adding,  however  (though  the  explanation  is  scarce 
necessary),  that,  if  it  were  a  question  of  my  own  happiness  only, 
I  should  not  accept  so  unreservedly  this  sacrifice  of  yourself.  For 
my  daughter,  I  must  be  even  less  magnanimous  toward  a  friend 


354  PAUL     FANE. 

than  were  else  possible.  I  am  sure  you  will  understand  how  much 
harder  this  proof  of  affection  is  than  the  other  extreme. 

But  will  you  allow  me  to  say,  also,  my  dear  Fane,  that  I  love  my 
daughter  too  well  to  be  worldly  in  my  anxiety  for  her  welfare  ? 
You  will  hardly  believe,  perhaps,  that  the  sacred  letter,  which  you 
enclosed  to  me,  was,  in  its  impulse  and  purpose,  the  echo  to  my 
own  heart's  most  earnest  prayer — varied  but  by  the  different  view 
of  the  same  blessing  and  the  road  to  reach  it,  as  seen  by  sadder, 
and  perhaps  wiser  eyes.  Mrs.  Paleford  (may  God  soften  to  me  her 
irreparable  loss!)  looked  into  her  own  conscious  heart  for  her 
daughter's  image.  She  thought  her  what  she  felt  herself  to  be — 
that,  and  that  only.  And,  were  it  so,  I  ask  to  be  believed  when  I 
say,  that,  as  the  father  of  Sybil,  I  would  now  sign,  and  send  to  yon 
again,  her  mother's  precious  letter  of  blessing  and  bestowal. 

While,  however,  as  there  is  little  need  to  say,  I  think  you 
abundantly  worthy  of  my  daughter,  and  the  future  career  and 
destiny,  whatever  it  may  be,  which  is  toned  and  guided  by  qualities 
like  yours,  abundantly  worthy  of  her  sharing,  I  must  still  think 
(you  will  pardon  me  for  insisting)  that  your  mode  of  life  and  your 
tastes  are  not  those  in  which  she  is  likeliest  to  find  happiness. 
That  she  loves  you,  at  present,  I  have  very  little  doubt.  Your 
departure  from  Florence  will  leave  a  dark  cloud  on  her  heart. 
But  it  is  the  love  of  a  child,  and  of  instinct ;  and  it  is  for  your 
exterior  of  graces  and  genial  courtesy.  She  has  not  reasoned  upon 
it.  She  loves  you  for  the  least  of  what  constitutes  your  character — 
the  least  of  what  your  life  is  to  develop.  With  the  first  choice  of 
the  many  different  doors,  that  open  away  from  the  common  vesti 
bule  of  youth,  your  paths  would  divide.  You  will  close  all  behind 
you,  on  your  way  to  that  inner  sanctuary  where  burns  only  the 
lamp  of  genius — she  will  turn  rather  where  the  lofty  dome  lets  in 


PAUL     FANE.  355 

the  splendors  of  sunshine.  For  your  concentration,  it  must  be  the 
dim  silence  of  a  cell — for  her  joyousness  of  expansion,  it  must  be 
the  music  unimprisoned  but  by  the  columns  of  a  palace. 

A  wife,  my  dear  Fane,  must  live  in  the  same  world  as  her  hus 
band  to  be  happy  with  him ;  and  it  is  from  the  difficulty  of  this, 
that  the  wives  of  men  of  genius  are  seldom  happy.  Sybil  has 
neither  a  predominant  imagination  nor  a  natural  loAre  of  seclusion ; 
and  while,  therefore,  if  she  had  these  essential  qualities,  she  could 
be  blest  only  by  such  a  husband  as  yourself,  she  is  wholly  unsuited 
to  you,  wanting  these.  Then,  guardedly  as  her  tastes  and  habits 
have  been  kept  simple,  by  her  education  and  by  my  limited  means, 
she  is  innately  luxurious  and  prodigal.  She  feels,  as  she  looks,  a 
queen — with  no  instinctive  sense,  apparently,  that  there  can  be 
any  propriety  of  limit  to  her  possession  of  what  naturally  befits  her. 
Capable  of  sacrificing  her  life  for  you,  therefore,  at  any  crisis  that 
could  call  upon  her  devotion,  she  would  unconsciously  sacrifice 
yours  by  slow  degrees,  where  the  call  was  made  only  on  her  econ 
omy. 

You  will  have  seen,  by  this,  why  I  differed  from  the  sacred 
thought  which  prompted  Mrs.  Paleford's  letter  to  you,  and  why  I 
still  give  my  preference  to  your  wealthier  and  less  gifted  rival. 
Mr.  Ashly's  sphere  of  life  is  Sybil's  own  natural  and  befitting 
sphere,  and,  in  all  that  forms  his  pride  and  his  daily  occupation 
and  enjoyment,  she  can  fully  and  freely  share.  His  character  you 
know,  for  you  have  studied  and  most  skillfully  represented  it,  in  its 
best  light,  with  your  pencil.  The  only  problem  is  the  result  of  the 
experiment  you  have  so  generously  given  us  the  opportunity  to 
try — dependent,  after  all,  on  that  most  willful  of  capricious  things, 
a  woman's  heart.  If  Sybil  has  conceived  a  life-long  passion  for 
you  (as  is  very  possible),  and  if  Mr.  Ashly  fails,  consequently,  to 


356  PAUL     FANE. 

supplant  you  in  your  absence,  I  will  gladly  send  you  the  welcome 
which  my  own  heart  yearns  already  to  give  you.  To  me,  as  you 
must  know,  you  would  be  far  the  more  agreeable  of  the  two,  as 
son,  friend,  and  companion.  We  are  both  leaving  ourselves  out 
of  the  question,  however — you,  thank  God,  as  well  as  I — and  the 
happiness  of  my  beautiful  Sybil  is  the  sacred  chalice  to  be  held 
high  by  our  united  hands  till  its  place  is  chosen.  God  bless  you 
for  your  nobleness  to  her,  and  for  your  truth  of  friendship  to  me ; 
and  believe  me,  my  dear  Fane,  always  faithfully  yours, 

BASIL  PALEFORD. 

The  travelling  carriage  resumed  its  way,  after  the  noon 
halt  in  the  mountains ;  and  Paul,  with  the  secret  contained 
in  the  foregoing  letter  to  be  kept  from  the  Tetherlys,  was 
an  absent-minded  companion  on  that  journey.  They  had 
silent  sympathies  in  common,  however,  and  the  scenery  and 
the  incidents  of  the  road  gave  them  topics  enough,  when, 
to  invent  conversation  would  have  been  difficult.  And  so, 
with  the  lapse  of  days  that  were  to  Paul  like  an  unrealized 
dream,  they  arrived  duly  in  Paris. 

With  the  proceeding  thence,  after  a  short  stay,  to  Lon 
don,  and  with  Paul's  establishment  there,  and  his  first  pro 
fessional  year,  the  reader  is  not  to  be  troubled.  It  was  a 
broken  interval  in  the  thread  of  our  story.  The  letters 
and  introductions  of  the  young  artist  were  more  than  suf 
ficient  for  his  wants,  and  it  was  the  usual  course  of  things 
in  a  career  whose  flattering  outset  is  made  easy  by  kind- 


PAUL    FANE.  357 

ness.  With  the  intention  to  tell  only  that  portion  of  his 
history  which  were  else  untold,  we  pass  over  this  period 
therefore,  and,  in  our  next  chapter,  take  up  the  broken 
thread  farther  on. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

SOME  eighteen  months  after  Paul's  arrival  in  London,  he 
sat  one  morning  among  his  pencils.  He  was  not  very 
well  disposed  for  work,  but  it  was  at  least  a  lesser  evil,  for 
he  shrank  from  being  left  alone  with  his  own  thoughts. 
The  copy  that  he  was  making  of  his  former  portrait  of 
Mrs.  Tetherly,  was  to  be  one  in  the  collection  of  his  draw 
ings  which  was  to  grace  the  boudoir  of  the  bride — his 
friend  Colonel  Paleford's  daughter  Sybil,  having  been  mar 
ried,  a  month  before,  to  Mr.  Arthur  Ashly,  and  this  pre 
paratory  addition  to  her  new  home  in  England  having 
been  among  her  wishes  expressed  when  first  affianced. 

The  copy  was  nearly  finished ;  but,  to  give  an  improving 
touch  to  it,  Paul  had  requested  a  sitting  from  his  friend, 
the  original,  her  face  having  very  much  softened  and 
genialized  with  the  union  which  had  proved  to  her  so 
happy.  The  artist's  continued  and  close  intimacy  with  the 
Tetherlys,  had  enabled  him  to  watch  well  the  development 


358  PAUL     FANE. 

of  her  expression  ;  for,  though  residing  mostly  at  their  home 
in  the  country,  they  were  often  in  London,  and  never  with 
out  passing  a  part  of  every  day  with  him  who  had  brought 
them  together.  Arriving  in  town  the  previous  evening, 
after  an  unusually  long  absence,  Mrs.  Tetherly  had  sent 
word  that  she  would  be  early  at  the  studio,  for  the  renewed 
sitting  which  Paul  had  written  to  request ;  and  he  now 
waited  her  coming. 

But,  pencils  were  reluctant,  with  the  heart  far  away ; 
and,  leaving  his  copy,  Paul  went  to  his  desk — remember 
ing  a  still  unread  letter  of  some  interest,  which  had  been 
given  to  him  for  his  perusal,  and,  in  the  press  of  other  mat 
ter  forgotten.  An  American  family,  on  their  first  foreign 
tour,  had  recently  come  to  him  with  a  note  of  introduction 
from  his  friend  Bosh ;  and,  by  the  eldest  daughter,  Mi&s 
Katherine  Kumletts,  he  had  been  indulged  with  a  sight  of 
her  friend  'Phia  Firkin's  correspondence  while  abroad — 
this  last  unread  letter  being  at  the  time  mislaid,  but  after 
wards  found  and  handed  to  Paul,  while  he  was  showing  his 
new  friends  the  wonders  of  the  Zoological  Gardens.  It 
was  written  by  the  present  Mrs.  Blivins,  shortly  after  her 
marriage,  and  dated  at  Paris  where  the  ceremony  took 
place : — 

DEAREST  KITTY: 

I  date  once  more  from  Paris,  though,  in  your  last,  you  say 
I  should  have  signed  myself,  "  your  affectionate  snail,"  so  slow  am 


PAUL    FANE.  359 

I  at  crawling  towards  home.  Please  have  some  hopes,  of  me, 
however,  as  I  am,  at  present,  a  bivalve,  and,  of  course,  with  new 
laws  of  motion — flattened  into  this  new  character  (I  liked  to  have 
forgot  to  tell  you)  on  the  first  of  May,  by  the  Rev.  Mr.  Sprinkle, 
of  the  English  chapel — my  beloved  Wabash  being  the  other  shell, 
and  connubial  bliss,  of  course,  the  mutual  oyster  between  us. 

Yes,  Kitty,  I  AM  MARRIED — I  believe.  It  is  hard  to  realize,  par 
ticularly  with  onl/  the  same  sized  pen  in  one's  quite  unaltered 
fingers.  Things  look  very  little  different,  my  dear !  I  don't  open 
my  eyes  any  wider,  that  I  know  of.  Just  as  much  salt  and  pepper 
to  jnake  things  taste  nice,  and  no  less  sugar  in  my  tea,  I  give  you 
my  honor!  But  the  servants  say,  "Madam"  to  me,  and  mamma 
has  stopped  keeping  such  a  bright  look-out.  So  I  suppose  I  am 
either  more  or  better  than  I  used  to  be.  Though  Kitty  (by  the 
way),  what  is  the  arithmetic  of  thinking  more  of  yourself  for 
becoming  a  half?  Your  faithful  Thia  was  a  "whole  souled  girl,"  I 
believe  you  always  said,  yet,  as  papa  would  express  it,  I  am  only 
the  "fifty  per  cent.'1'1  of  my  devoted  Bosh,  since  I  am  married  to 
him.  Just  cipher  me  that  litUe  sum,  dear ! 

There  is  not  much  to  tell  you  about  the  ceremony.  I  knew  very 
well  what  it  was  to  be,  but,  somehow  one  can't  help  expecting  the 
astonishing  minute — a  sort  of  dropping  away  of  some  platform 
from  under  one,  as  it  were,  when  the  fatal  knot  is  fastened.  I  had 
my  handkerchief  already  to  cry,  and  could  only  blow  my  nose 
with  the  poor  disappointed  thing !  I  really  think  there  should  be 
a  bit  of  ice  dropped  down  one's  back,  or  a  shower-bath,  or  a  pin 
stuck  into  one,  by  the  bridesmaid,  or  something  to  bring  the 
nerves  to  a  climax.  It  looks  hard-hearted  to  take  it  quite  so  easy 
— now,  don't  it  ? 

The  groomsman,   I  should  have    mentioned  to    you,   was  Mr. 


360  PAUL    FANE. 

Fane — come  all  the  way  from  London  to  officiate  at  his  friend 
Blivins's  wedding.  He  looked  paler  than  I  had  ever  seen  him ; 
and  as  my  Wabash  looked  considerably  redder,  the  contrast  was 
even  more  striking  than  usual.  In  fact,  the  glow  of  happiness  is 
the  least  becoming  complexion  to  a  man,  I  have  generally  observed. 
And  Mr.  Fane  did  everything  so  beautifully !  Ah,  Kitty !  there 
are  men  one  has  no  idea  of  marrying,  who  are  still  very  pleasing  to 
contemplate ! 

Now,  I  know  very  well  what  you  are  saying !  I  might  have  had 
the  pale  cheek  to  kiss,  instead  of  the  red  one>  you  think — or,  as 
brother  Thus,  with  his  tandem,  would  express  himself,  I  might 
have  put  the  wheel-horse  on  the  lead.  You  are  mistaken,  my  dear ! 
for,  in  the  first  place,  I  couldn't,  and,  in  the  next  place,  I  wouldn't 
if  I  could.  For  me  to  have  set  my  cap  for  Mr.  Fane  (as  I  once 
wrote  to  you  I  had  some  thought  of  doing)— la!  Kitty!  it  would 
be  like  a  clam's  having  a  passion  for  a  bull-frog.  We  should  never 
sing  the  same  tune,  and  then  he  would  be  jumping  out  of  my  reach 
every  minute.  You  should  have  put  your  two  sharp  eyes  upon  Mr. 
Fane  to  understand  it,  for  it  is  not  because  he  is  a  bit  grander  than 
other  people.  I  think,  indeed,  that  my  Wabash  (with  the  present 
addition  to  his  daily  bread,  at  least)  feels  "  some  punkins  "  above 
him.  Then  he  is  so  quiet  and  deferential  that  you  feel  quite  as 
tall,  if  not  taller,  when  he  is  done  looking  at  you.  But,  still,  after 
talking  with  him  a  little,  I  always  have  a  strange  consciousness 
that  he  has  come  out  of  some  inner  world  to  speak  to  me — a  feel 
ing,  somehow,  as  if  he  was  to  return  to  his  unseen  parlor  friends, 
when  he  has  done  talking  with  me  in  the  entry.  Very  pleasant, 
for  a  change,  to  see  such  a  man,  my  dear,  but  who  could  tie  her 
nightcap  quite  at  ease  in  his  wonderful  company  ? 

No,  no,  Kitty! — never  give  all  your  money  for  half  the  article! 


P  AU  L       P  A  N  E.  361 

Blivins  is  all  mine,  from  the  bald  bump  of  reverence  that  makes 
the  top  of  his  head  look  like  the  lid  of  the  old  coffee-pot  at  school, 
down  to  his  great  toe,  that  I  could  dress  up  and  make  a  baby  of, 
if  I  wanted  a  plaything,  this  very  minute.  He  believes  in  me  too, 
with  all  there  is  of  him,  and  it  is  a  comfort  to  know  that  one's 
worshipper  has  no  spare  faith  in  want  of  another  altar.  I  expect 
to  settle  down  into  a  very  plain  case  of  happiness,  when  I  get 
home,  and  I  want  a  husband  (as  they  say  when  they  advertise  for 
a  doctor's  horse)  "  warranted  to  stand  without  hitching." 

I  know  a  little  more  of  Mr.  Fane  than  what  I  have  just  told  you, 
however.  Blivins  gets  very  eloquent  (and  it  is  the  greatest  plea 
sure  to  me,  in  matrimony,  thus  far,  that  the  dear  fellow  lies  awake 
at  night  and  tells  me  all  his  secrets) — very  eloquent,  indeed,  in 
talking  of  a  certain  romantic  attachment  of  his  friend  Paul's.  He 
(Blivins,  you  understand)  quite  frightens  me — the  way  he  sits  up  in 
bed  and  bangs  his  hand  down  on  the  counterpane,  declaring  they 
will  yet  be  married !  But  I  have  an  opinion  of  my  own,  for  I 
overheard  a  conversation  between  Mary  Evenden  (the  girl  he 
refers  to)  and  "  Signer  Yalerio "  (the  lady  in  disguise,  who  took 
my  bust),  on  this  very  subject.  They  were  both  so  occupied  in 
copying  those  perfections  of  mine  which  have  no  ears,  that  they 
forgot  I  could  hear  also,  I  suppose;  but,  at  any  rate,  they  talked 
as  freely  as  if  I  and  the  two  clay  models  of  me  were  deaf  and  blind 
alike.  And  what  do  you  think  this  pretty  Miss  Mary  insisted 
upon  ?  Why,  that  she  loved  Mr.  Fane's  genius,  but  wished  some 
one  else  to  have  the  rest  of  him !  This  double  idea  of  the  same 
gentleman  explained  to  me  the  feeling  I  had,  as  to  his  belonging 
to  some  other  world — but  how  funny,  if  she  has  him  in  that  world, 
she  shouldn't  want  him  in  this  one,  too !  The  fact  is,  I  suppose, 
that  he  and  his  genius  amount  to  two  individuals,  and  the  innocent 

16 


362  PAULFANE. 

little  thing  dreads  polygamy ;  but,  for  my  part,  if  I  were  to  run 
the  risk  of  such  a  dreadful  crime  at  all,  I  should  at  least  take  tne 
live  man,  in  his  visible  shoes  and  stockings,  to  begin  with.  If  his 
invisible  genius  chose  to  mouse  round,  to  be  loved  a  little,  now 
and  then  (say  it  was  Blivins),  I  don't  believe  the  two  Blivinses 
need  interfere,  and  I'll  warrant  I  could  find  what  extra  affection 
would  be  necessary,  without  robbing  anybody.  What  says  your 
instinct  on  that  subject,  my  dear  Kitty  ? 

One  little  query,  by  the  way,  before  I  bite  my  lips  to  stop  think 
ing  of  Mr.  Fane :  Might  I  not  have  woke  up,  some  morning  (sup 
posing  I  had  married  the  visible  Paul  No.  1),  and  found  myself 
grown  intellectual  enough  to  belong  to  his  other  world,  so  as  to 
feel  quite  at  home  with  the  invisible  Paul  No.  2  ?  And  might  not 
Miss  Evenden,  in  the  same  way,  marry  No.  2,  and  wake  up  some 
Horning  and  find  herself  just  as  much  at  home  with  No.  1  ?  I  give 
you  the  subject  to  write  a  composition  upon,  my  dear!  "Please 
mind  your  stops,  and  write  it  legibly!" 

We  turn  our  faces  homeward  next  week.  I  shall  be  glad  to 
smell  republican  air  once  more.  This  is  not  the  side  of  the  water 
where  a  woman  is  thought  much  of,  "free  gratis  for  nothing;" 
and,  in  fact,  unless  you  want  his  particular  love  made  to  you,  a  man 
over  here  has  no  very  remarkable  pleasure  in  your  society.  Give 
me  the  American  beaux,  who  value  the  women  they  have  "  taken 
no  stock  in  "  as  high  as  they  do  their  own  investments.  I  think  I 
shall  be  content  with  a  one-horse  life  and  Blivins— though  I  have 
been  a  whole  team,  you  may  say,  ever  since  we  left  school.  I 
begin  to  feel  less  universally  inclined,  my  dear !  Prairie-loving  is 
all  very  well  for  awhile,  but  one's  heart  aches,  after  all,  for  some 
thing  with  a  fence  round  it.  And  Blivins,  as  somebody  in  Shak- 
speare  says  of  his  very  plain  dog,  is  "a  poor  thing  but  mine  own." 


PAUL     FANE.  363 

Good-bye,  dear  Kitty,  and  with  my  husband's  second-best  love 
to  you,  Yours,  most  affectionately, 

THIA  BLIVINS. 

Paul  had  scarce  finished  reading  the  letter  of  the 
"hoosier"  belle  and  bride,  when  the  pull-up  of  a  carriage 
at  the  door  of  his  lodgings  announced  the  arrival  of  Mrs. 
Tetherly ;  and  in  the  cordial  greeting  of  his  unceremonious 
and  genial  friend,  and  in  the  work  for  which  his  pencils 
were  all  in  readiness,  the  rather  suggestive  theories  of  Mrs. 
Blivins  were  soon  forgotten. 

"  My  dear  Fane ! "  said  Mrs.  Tetherly,  at  last,  with  an 
appealing  smile,  after  a  few  minutes  of  complete  silence, 
during  which  he  had  given  his  best  touch  to  the  new 
shade  of  expression  in  her  face,  "  I  have  your  forgiveness 
and  something  else,  to  ask  of  you." 

"  Granted,  before  asking,"  replied  Paul,  half  absently, 

"  Not  so  fast,"  she  resumed ;  "  I  am  riot  sure  even  of  my 
pardon  for  what  I  have  done ;  and,  much  less,  of  your 
assent  to  what  I  propose  to  do." 

tk  How  can  so  worthless  and  stray  a  waif  as  I  am,  at  this 
present  hour,"  sadly  and  slowly  uttered  Paul,  with  a  return 
to  the  weight  that  had  all  day  pressed  upon  his  heart,  "  be 
otherwise  than  willing  to  be  floated  anywhere,  by  any 
chance  tide  that  should  undertake  his  destiny  ?" 

Mra.  Tetherly  made  a  playful  gesture  of  relief. 

"  You  have  described  my  venturesome  service  so  well," 


364  PAUL    FANE. 

she  said,  "  that  I  shall  only  have  the  trouble  of  explaining 
it  to  you  a  little  more  fully.  I  have  '  undertaken  your 
destiny,'  my  dear  friend — simply  making  love  for  you,  that 
is  to  say,  and  without  asking  your  permission  !" 

Paul  dropped  his  pencils,  and  listened,  in  puzzled  silence 
and  surprise. 

"  I  will  make  a  short  story  of  it,"  she  went  on  to  say, 
"  and  I  will  not  hear  your  answer  till  you  have  had  time  to 
think  of  it — half  a  day,  at  least — for  we  dine  at  six,  and 
the  afternoon  is  before  you.  I  once  ventured,  if  you 
remember,  to  write  something  to  you  about  Mildred. 
You  gave  me  no  answer,  and  we  never  talked  of  it ; 
but  I  have,  nevertheless,  cherished  my  little  project  of 
bringing  you  together — the  favor  you  have  made  with 
her,  since,  by  your  conduct  in  some  critical  matters,  very 
much  brightening  the  probabilities.  Well — a  day  or  two 
ago,  we  were  gossiping  rather  more  confidentially  than 
usual,  Mildred  and  I.  Tetherly  had  once  told  me  some 
thing  of  a  secret  interest  in  her,  which  you  had  treasured 
from  the  time  of  first  meeting  her  in  America.  It  is  true, 
he  said  it  was  less  a  tender  passion  than  the  resentment 
for  an  imaginary  slight — showing  itself  in  a  desire  to  make 
a  different  impression  upon  her,  for  pride's  sake — but  the 
ambition  to  please  her  was  enough  for  my  argument.  I 
assumed  the  point,  or  rather  left  it  to  her  inference,  that 
there  was  a  hidden  passion  under  it  all." 


PAUL    FANE.  365 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Tetherly  !"  exclaimed  her  astonished 
listener. 

"  Yes — and  you  shall  hear  the  result,  substantially  and 
fairly.  Our  confab  was  long,  and  very  confidential ;  and 
she  confessed  to  me  something  like  this :  that  she  had 
not  thought  of  loving  you — that  she  never  was  awaro 
of  feeling  a  tender  passion  for  any  man — but,  that  chance 
had  given  her  rare  opportunities  of  testing  your  more 
hidden  qualities  of  character  (tests  without  which  she 
would  be  willing  to  trust  her  happiness  in  no  man's 
hands),  and,  of  all  the  men  she  had  ever  known,  you 
certainly  seemed  to  her,  at  present,  the  most  worthy  to  be 
loved." 

Paul  rose  to  his  feet,  unable  to  speak,  but  the  pressure 
of  a  cold  finger  of  iron — hopeless  and  pitiless — seemed 
taken  from  the  life-nerve  at  his  heart.  He  paced  the  room 
hurriedly,  while  his  companion  went  on  : 

"  Pardon  me — a  woman  and  a  relative,  and  knowing 
Mildred  better  than  you  possibly  can — if  I  prescribe  to 
you  the  light  in  which  you  should  look  upon  this  con 
fession.  It  is  not  in  her  nature  to  make  a  warmer  one. 
It  says  everything  for  her — enough,  at  least,  to  assure 
you  that  it  would  be  the  foundation  of  a  love  that  would 
last  a  lifetime.  Besides,  my  dear  Fane,  it  reveals  the  fact 
that  you  might  win  her — and  how  worthy  Mildred  is,  of 
any  man's  winning,  I  need  not  tell  you,  after  the  portrayal 


366  PAUL     FANE. 

of  her  inmost  heart,  which  you  have  given  with  your  pencil. 
Do  not  reply  !  I  will  not  hear  you  till  we  are  alone 
together  again.  But  one  request  more." 

Paul  was  too  busy  with  conflicting  thoughts  to  utter  a 
word.  He  stood,  with  knit  fingers  and  closely-pressed  lips, 
to  listen. 

"  We  are  going  to-morrow  to  Raven-Park,  for  a  couple 
of  days — ten  miles  from  London,  you  know,  and  the  resi 
dence  of  a  bachelor-cousin  of  our  family.  Tetherly  has 
an  invitation  for  you,  and  we  will  take  you  down  with  us. 
Mildred  is  there  already.  It  will,  at  least,  be  an  opportu 
nity  for  you  to  meet.  No  refusal,  now !  I  will  not  listen 
to  it.  Make  your  arrangements  to  go,  and  so  adieu  till 
six !  God  bless  you,  my  dear  Fane  ! " 

And  in  another  moment,  and  without  word  or  sign  from 
Paul,  except  only  a  mechanical  return  of  the  pressure  of 
her  hand,  Mrs.  Tetherly  was  gone. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

THE  company  at  Raven-Park  was  principally  a  family- 
gathering.  Tetherly  gave  a  list  of  the  guests  and  their 
peculiar  points  of  character,  before  leaving  Paul  in  his 
room  to  dress  for  dinner ;  and,  as  he  closed  the  door,  Paul 
fell  to  wondering  how  he  had  so  mechanically  consented  to 
be  brought  where  he  was,  and,  particularly,  how  he  had 
given  in,  ever  so  tacitly  and  reluctantly,  to  Mrs.  Tetherly's 
improbable  scheme.  The  approaching  meeting  with  Miss 
Ashly,  he  felt,  was  to  cost  him  an  effort,  inestimably  as  he 
had  prized  the  confession  of  preference  and  esteem  for  him 
which  she  had  made  to  her  aunt.  But,  had  the  removal 
of  that  long  festering  sting  from  his  heart  left  it  more 
impressible  ?  Would  the  victory  of  his  pride  warm  into 
love?  The  colder  judgment,  sitting  in  the  background  of 
his  troubled  thoughts,  said  "  no ;"  while,  so  utterly  adrift 
and  unloved  did  he  feel  in  the  world,  since  the  marriage 
of  Sybil  Paleford,  that  even  this  vague  semblance  of  hap 
piness  looked  attractive.  To  turn  over  the  blotted  leaf  of 


368  PAUL     FANE. 

bis  heart,  and  forget  it  if  he  could,  but  to  offer  the  next 
blank  page  as  a  tablet  whereon  Fate  was  free  to  write,  was 
the  resolve  plucked  at  the  last  moment  from  the  perplexi 
ties  of  his  thoughts,  as  he  descended  to  the  drawing-room. 

The  greeting  from  Miss  AshJy,  as  she  stood  among  eight 
or  ten  of  her  relatives,  all  strangers  to  Paul,  was,  of  course, 
only  a  friendly  cordiality.  He  intended  to  approach  again 
the  hand  that  pressed  his  so  warmly,  but  his  presentations, 
right  and  left,  by  his  host,  Sir  John  Morford,  were  scarce 
ended,  when  the  door  of  the  dining-room  was  thrown  open, 
and  he  took  his  chance  of  neighborhood  at  dinner  by  giv 
ing  his  arm  to  the  nearest  lady. 

But,  with  Mrs.  Tetherly  on  the  right  hand  of  Sir  John, 
and  engrossed  of  course — Tetherly  between  two  aunts  on 
the  same  side  of  the  table  with  himself — Miss  Ashly 
directly  opposite,  and  to  be  talked  to,  if  at  all,  with  an 
audience  of  five  or  six  indifferent  listeners — and  himself 
between  two  profiles,  which  his  artistic  eye  discovered,  at  a 
glance,  to  belong  to  two  wooden  and  well-bred  mediocrities 
— Paul  ate  his  soup  with  small  promise  of  pleasure.  The 
usual  refuge  would  have  been  easy.  He  could  have  taken 
his  thoughts  into  his  own  brain — (serving  out  the  dried 
raisins  of  well-preserved  commonplaces,  instead  of  fresh 
grapes  plucked  from  the  vine  of  the  present  moment) — but 
that  his  old  pride-wound  was  still  sensitive,  though  healed. 
Miss  Ashly's-  cold  grey  eyes  were  seeing  him  in  a  new 


PAUL    FANE.  369 

light,  and  trying  him,  inevitably  and  for  the  first  time,  by 
the  standards  among  which  she  had  been  brought  up.  He 
was  piqued,  not  only  to  appear  to  advantage,  but  content 
edly  at  his  ease. 

Master  of  appearances,  as  Paul  constitutionally  was, 
however,  he  was  not  master  of  his  own  nervous  susceptibi 
lity.  The  respective  estimate  which  he  formed  of  himself 
and  those  around  him,  did  not  at  all  agree  with  their 
respective  estimate  of  themselves  and  him ;  and  this  dif 
ference,  which,  under  ordinary  circumstances,  would  simply 
have  amused  him,  acted  upon  him,  while  so  much  was  at 
stake,  with  the  republicanism  of  Nature.  He  was  out 
voted.  It  was  perfectly  evident  to  him  that  his  neighbors 
were  eating  their  dinner  under  the  full  impression  of  their 
social  superiority  to  both  Tetherly  and  his  friend  the 
American  artist — and  in  the  very  small  minority  of  his 
own  opinion  to  the  contrary,  there  was  no  consciousness  of 
power.  While  he  talked  with  a  most  voluble  and  success 
fully  affected  brilliancy,  therefore,  he  was  secretly  writhing 
under  the  sense  of  being  condescended  to  by  those  whom 
he  amused. 

And,  even  in  the  very  natural  blindness  of  Miss  Ashly  to 
the  torture  of  his  position,  there  was  an  aggravation  of  it. 
She  was  evidently  looking  at  him  with  nothing  but  appro 
bation — having  been  relieved,  at  first,  of  some  little  unea 
siness,  from  awkwardness  anticipated,  but,  when  this  was 
16* 


370  PAUL    FANE. 

removed,  charmed  with  his  ease  and  agreeableness.  Her 
smile  across  the  table  was  as  genial  and  kindly  as  it  was 
any  way  capable  of  being.  Yet  why  should  she  not  see 
(Paul's  pride  insisted  on  asking),  that  there  was  insult  and 
contemptuous  injustice  for  him,  in  the  very  different  sort 
of  kindness  —the  condescending  toleration — of  the  manner 
of  her  relatives  ?  He  tried  in  vain  to  still  the  gnawing  of 
it.  He  remembered  over  and  over  again,  that,  for  the  two 
years  he  had  been  in  England,  he  had  associated  almost 
only  with  those  who,  by  court  standards,  were  the  superiors 
of  her  family — made  quite  at  home,  by  his  genius,  in 
houses  of  the  more  exclusive  nobility  where  the  lesber. aris 
tocrats  around  him  never  set  foot — yet  the  thought  was  of 
no  avail.  They  were  Ashlys — of  the  blood  of  the  proud 
woman  who  had  given  the  first  life-sting  to  his  pride — and 
by  that  silly  yet  ineffaceable  memory  of  his  boyhood's 
mortification,  they  had  the  power  to  humiliate  him. 

The  dinner  seemed  interminable  to  Paul ;  but  the  ladies 
at  last  left  the  table ;  and,  with  Miss  Ashly's  disappearance, 
the  "  amusing  American  artist,"  as  her  uncles  and  cousins 
had  all  thought  him,  became  suddenly  silent.  With  the 
silver  fruit-knife  for  a  pencil,  he  wrote  or  sketched,  very 
absently,  on  the  bottom  of  his  plate,  his  eyes  sheltered 
with  the  hand  that  supported  his  forehead.  His  friend 
Tetherly  was  deep  in  politics,  with  their  host,  at  the  other 
end  of  the  table.  How  he  could  ever  have  consented  for 


PAUL    FANE.  371 

an  instant  to  think  of  marrying  Miss  Ashly — binding  him 
self  to  breathe,  even  for  a  second  time  in  his  whole  life,  the 
hell  of  such  an  atmosphere  of  relationship — was  working 
the  curl  of  Paul's  lip  into  something  like  a  smile  of  bitter 
ness,  when,  suddenly,  along  the  gravel-path  under  the  win 
dow,  came  the  quick  rattle  and  pull-up  of  a  post-carriage, 
silencing  the  conversation  all  around. 

The  butler  entered  presently,  and  leaned  over  with  an 
audible  whisper : 

"  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ashly,  from  Florence,  Sir  John !  They 
have  been  to  dinner,  and  will  have  the  pleasure  of  meeting 
you  at  tea." 

Sir  John  nodded.  Tetherly  gave  his  friend  a  look  that 
he  meant  should  be  congratulatory  of  a  mutually  pleasant 
surprise.  The  guests  fell  to  discussing  how  long  Arthur 
could  have  been  in  coming  from  Switzerland,  where  he 
had  been  passing  his  honey-moon — whether  he  would  take 
to  hunting  or  politics,  now  that  he  had  brought  his  wife  to 
England  for  a  permanency,  and  was  to  reside  at  Ashly 
Hall — when  "  Mrs.  Arthur  "  would  probably  be  presented 
at  court,  and  what  a  talk  her  beauty  would  undoubtedly 
make — whether  their  first  son  would  be  named  after  the 
Morford  or  Ashly  branch,  and  how  the  Paleford  and  Ashly 
blood  would  cross,  as  to  features  and  character.  The  pres 
ence  of  the  still  silent  American  was  quite  forgotten  by  the 


372  PAUL     FANE. 

half  dozen  gentlemen  at  his  end  of  the  table,  as  they  sat, 
with  a  fresh  family  topic,  over  their  wine. 

Paul  felt  his  eyes  grow  hot  and  blind,  with  the  burning 
flush  to  his  brain  and  temples.  Sybil  Paleford  under  the 
same  roof — a  wife — and  to  be  met  with  the  unbetraying 
politeness  of  indifference,  in  a  drawing-room,  and  before 
strangers!  The  clenched  fingers  with  which  he  almost 
broke  in  two  the  knife  in  his  hand — the  bloodless  lips  of 
the  face  bent  low  to  the  table — told  the  effort  that  it  cost 
him  for  self-control.  To  rush  from  the  sight  of  those 
around  him — to  fly  from  the  house  and  escape  the  agony 
of  that  meeting — was  the  wild,  fierce  impulse  of  heart  and 
brain. 

He  thanked  God  that  no  one  spoke  to  him — that  he 
could  be  silent  and  alone  with  his  anguish,  though  in  the 
presence  of  unsympathizing  men — that  there  was  time  to 
rally,  and  grow  calm,  and  nerve  for  the  bitter  trial  now 
inevitable — the  trial  of  congratulating  her  upon  her  mar 
riage  !  Sybil  Ashly,  the  woman  he  loved  most  on  earth,  a 
bride — nay,  a  wife,  and  scarce  a  bride  any  longer,  but 
already  accustomed  to  the  happiness  of  that  new  name, 
and  now  to  be  seen  presently  by  him,  and  watched  for 
hours  in  the  familiar  interchange  of  endearments  with 
another ! 

And  vet  the  secret  of  what  he  was  to  suffer  was  between 


PAUL     FANE.  373 

herself  and  him.  Miss  Ashly,  it  was  true,  knew  the  sacri 
fice  he  had  made  to  leave  that  matchless  girl  for  another's 
winning;  but  she  did  not  know  the  proof  of  Sybil's  love 
for  him,  hidden  (still  wordless  and  scarce  believed)  in  the 
very  depths  of  his  soul — those  swift,  warm  kisses  on  his 
eyes,  as  he  lay  (she  thought,  insensible  !)  in  the  twilight 
of  that  day  too  trying !  Tetherly  and  his  wife  had  known 
little  or  nothing  of  his  passion  for  Sybil.  Ashly,  the  hus 
band,  had  looked  upon  it  as  a  caprice  of  girlish  attach 
ment,  which  he  had  only  to  make  serious  love  to  over 
come — even  Colonel  Paleford  having  concealed  from  him 
the  critical  improbability  of  his  success,  and  the  full  depth 
of  Paul's  magnanimity  of  relinquishment. 

And  what  was  the  story  of  that  wooing  ?  How  was 
she — Sybil  Paleford,  into  whose  willing  eyes  he  had 
poured  such  glowing  devotion  from  his  own,  under  Italy's 
love-kindling  sunsets,  dreamy  moonlights,  and  calm,  sweet 
mornings — how  was  she  persuaded  to  forget  him  ?  That 
it  was  not  a  resentment,  and  not  because  his  motives  were 
misunderstood,  he  was  certain.  Colonel  Paleford  was  a 
man  of  too  high  honor  not  to  have  done  him  full  justice 
in  the  farewell  of  which  he  was  the  bearer  to  his  daughter. 
And  there  would  have  been  some  show  of  reason  for  the 
acceptance  of  Mr.  Ashly,  too,  if  the  wealth  of  which  she 
thus  became  the  mistress,  were  necessary  for  the  support 
of  her  father — but,  with  his  moderate  competency,  he  had 


374  PAUL    FANE. 

preferred  to  remain  in  Italy,  and  end  his  days  in  that 
milder  climate ;  his  daughter  and  her  husband  to  pass  the 
winters  with  him  there.  Was  Paul's  romance  of  belief  in 
woman's  unworldliness  of  love  to  be  thus  shaken  ?  Had 
the  girlhood,  so  independent  of  a  court,  and  so  disinterested 
in  the  manifestation  of  a  persevering  preference  for  a  poor 
artist,  passed  into  a  womanhood  of  selfishness — a  taste 
only  for  luxury  and  display  ?  On  this  one  wild  dream  he 
had  built,  unconsciously,  but  wholly  and  believingly,  his 
hope  of  inspiring  the  passion  pictured  in  his  ideal.  By 
Sybil  Paleford,  or  never  in  this  world,  he  had  thought  to 
be  romantically  loved.  This  was  the  life-enigma,  stored 
away — hidden  in  his  inmost  heart — but,  with  all  its  uncer 
tainty,  most  fondly  and  resistlessly  trusted. 

It  was  well  for  Paul,  that,  in  the  hour  of  unobserved 
self-absorption  given  him  by  the  gentlemens'  remaining  at 
table,  his  crowding  thoughts  had  time  to  traverse  their 
tumultuous  circle  and  come  round  again  to  his  composure 
of  disappointment.  Upon  the  sad  misgiving  that  Sybil 
was,  after  all,  more  like  others  than  he  had  dreamed  her 
to  be — that  she  had  loved  him  when  near,  and  soon  forgot 
him  for  another  when  he  was  gone — he  once  more  became 
self-possessed,  and  calm  outwardly.  His  love-dream  for 
life  was  over,  but,  with  the  certainty  of  that,  he  could  at 
least  entomb  its  wreck  in  his  own  memory.  It  was  in  the 
past,  and  he  could  hide  it  from  the  world. 


PAUL     FANE.  375 

The  long  windows  to  the  floor  were  all  open,  for  it  was 
a  warm  October  night,  with  a  brilliant  moon  ;  and,  as  the 
guests  followed  Sir  John  into  the  drawing-room  by  the 
folding-doors,  Paul  stepped  out  upon  the  long  piazza  that 
ran  the  length  of  the  house.  The  formidableness  of  a 
deliberate  approach,  to  give,  with  the  other  gentlemen,  his 
welcome  to  the  new  arrivals,  rather  staggered  his  courage. 
If  he  could  enter  at  the  side,  by  one  of  the  windows  open 
ing  upon  the  lawn,  and  speak  to  the  bride — to  Mrs.  Ashly 
— when  the  attention  of  the  company  was  less  concen 
trated  upon  her,  he  thought  the  embarrassment  might  be 
less.  At  least,  he  might  bathe  his  hot  eyes  in  the  fresh, 
calm  air  of  night,  and,  from  the  stars,  familiar  to  his  hap 
pier  hours,  get  a  thought,  perhaps,  to  help  build  the  bar 
rier  that  he  needed. 

The  brilliant  flood  of  light,  from  the  windows  of  the 
drawing-room,  made  the  foliage  of  the  low-hanging  trees 
upon  the  lawn  too  golden  for  even  the  moonlight  to  be 
perceptible ;  and  the  stars,  up  through  the  glow  of  the 
atmosphere  immediately  around  the  house,  were  scarce 
visible  at  all.  Paul  leaned  over  the  railing  for  a  moment ; 
but  the  concentration  of  the  light  and  the  sound  of  voices 
drew  him  insensibly  onward,  and,  passing  one  or  two  pil 
lars  of  the  colonnade,  he  came  suddenly  upon  the  window 
commanding  a  full  view  of  the  company  within. 

A  sense  of  alarm — a  staggering  of  the  brain-poise  for  a 


376  PAUL    FANE. 

moment — but  he  remembered  that  he  was  still  outside,  in 
the  darkness.  He  was  not  within  the  four  walls  which 
bounded  the  light  for  those  in  her  presence.  He  was  no* 
visible,  to  her!  But  she,  to  him,  through  that  open  win 
dow ! — oh  God,  how  beautiful  she  once  more  beamed,  a 
wonder,  upon  his  eyes !  Had  he  forgotten  how  surpassing 
was  that  beauty  !  Or  had  Sybil,  with  her  new  happiness 
— her  happiness  as  Ashly's  wife — grown  more  fair  ?  Fairer 
she  certainly  seemed  to  him,  even  than  he  had  dreaded, 
with  his  artist's  memory  and  poet's  imagination,  that,  as  a 
bride,  she  would  appear.  Her  type  of  beauty — (he  mar 
velled  as  his  eyes  refused  to  see,  but  still  saw  it!) — was 
completer  than  when  he  loved  her.  It  was  higher  beauty, 
now,  than  when  she  had  turned  from  court  homage  to 
think  only  of  him — higher  beauty,  in  England  and  as  an 
Ashly,  than,  under  the  passionate  sky  of  Italy,  giving  a 
joyous  girl's  first  heart-waking  to  Paul  Fane  !  She  was 
paler,  now,  and  more  calmly  and  strangely  noble.' 

Waiting  his  opportunity  to  speak  to  her,  without  all 
eyes  upon  the  unsuspected  trial  of  his  courage,  he  still 
stood,  an  unobserved  spectator  of  the  scene,  by  the  column 
of  the  piazza.  The  tribute  to  Mrs.  Ashly's  remarkable 
loveliness  was  universal.  In  her  white  evening  dress  as  a 
bride,  and  with  a  coronet  of  costly  pearls  circling  the 
shadow  of  her  golden  hair  —  her  exquisitely  moulded 
shoulders  and  arms  fairly  dazzling  with  their  glowing 


PAUL      FANE.  377 

and  fine-grained  whiteness,  in  the  light,  and  her  completed 
fullness  of  figure  as  a  woman  without  a  fault,  either  of 
sculpture-line  or  queenliness  of  mien — she  sat  at  a  slight 
angle  of  turn  from  the  window  where  Paul  stood,  but,  by 
the  next  window,  apparently,  when  not  occupied  with  con 
versation,  looking  out  upon  the  lawn.  Around  her  chair, 
more  or  less  distant,  but  with  their  eyes  fixed  upon  her, 
stood  the  gentlemen  who  had  just  been  presented — Sir 
John  at  the  right  arm  of  her  fauteuil,  and  the  bridegroom 
leaning  upon  its  carved  back,  looking  down  upon  her  as 
she  sat  beneath  him.  Paul  gave  to  the  happy  man  one 
look  of  his  practised  and  searching  eye !  He  had  studied 
that  face  too  well  as  an  artist  to  misread  it  now.  The 
Ashly  iciness  of  repose  had  come  uppermost  again.  With 
his  cold  and  habitual  contemptuousness,  the  bridegroom 
was  blest !  He  was  secure  in  his  freelv-acknowledeed 

*  O 

happiness !  But,  even  on  the  torturing  throe  of  uncon 
trollable  envy  and  jealousy,  which  Paul  was  guilty  of  feel 
ing,  for  the  moment,  there  was  a  gleam  of  wicked  light. 
In  that  circle  of  men — the  well-dressed,  well-mannered, 
unexceptionably  aristocratic  gentlemen  who  now  stood 
around  her — her  relatives  and  intimates  for  life — there 
was  not  one,  who,  by  the  instinct  of  her  nature,  would  ever 
seem  her  equal.  They  were  her  inferiors — nay — thank 
God !  they  were  even  his !  With  the  husband  who  stood 
behind  her,  there,  in  lordly  possession — however  he  might 


378  PAUL    FANE. 

now  be  enriched,  beyond  all  possibility  of  being  again 
reached  or  mated,  for  value  of  life  by  a  poor  artist — he 
had  once  compared  himself  and  felt  worthier  than  an 
Ashly  of  her  love. 

A  step  approached  from  behind,  as  this  dark  thought 
gave  place  to  nobler  feelings ;  and  Tetherly,  coming  in 
from  his  cigar  upon  the  lawn,  slipped  his  arm  into  Paul's, 
to  have  his  company  at  the  tea-table.  Mrs.  Tetherly 
presided  at  the  urn  in  the  corner ;  but,  on  their  way, 
the  two  gentlemen  together  gave  their  first  greeting  to 
the  bride — the  anticipated  embarrassment,  and  scarce  con 
trollable  emotion  of  Paul,  being  fortunately  and  wholly 
veiled  under  the  confusion  of  that  double  welcome. 
Tetherly  was  constitutionally  ceremonious.  Paul  took 
the  tone  of  his  manner,  and  was  ceremonious,  too.  He 
noticed  that  Mrs.  Ashly's  voice  did  not  utte-r  his  name 
audibly,  though  her  lips  moved.  The  pressure  of  her 
hand  was  uncertain.  She  replied  to  his  one  question 
of  her  father's  health,  with  a  tone  that,  to  h^m,  seemed 
forced  and  mechanical,  but  in  no  way  likely  to  seem 
other  than  commonplace  to  those  around ;  and,  feeling 
Mr.  Ashly's  eye  very  steadily  fixed  upon  him,  Paul  shook 
hands  with  the  bridegroom,  and,  echoing  his  friend's 
welcome  of  him  to  England,  passed  on.  The  ordeal  was 
over — he  scarce  knew  when,  or  how ! 

"  My  dear  Paul !"  said  Mrs.  Tetherly,  in  an  under-tone, 


PAUL    FANE.  379 

as  she  handed  him  a  cup  of  tea,  "  thank  God  for  the  old 
magnetism,  as  strong  as  ever !  She  loves  you !" 

Paul  had  but  one  image  in  his  bewildered  thoughts,  and 
he  looked  at  his  friend  in  dumb  amazement. 

"  I  have  been  talking  with  Mildred,"  she  continued, 
"  and  she  confesses  to  having  wholly  disparaged  you, 
even  with  her  already  confessed,  but  hitherto  measured 
preference.  The  comparison  with  our  dull  kinsfolk,  to-day, 
has  revealed  to  her  your  better  clay." 

"My  dear  friend!"  exclaimed  Paul,  with  the  expostu- 
latory  tone  of  mere  politeness,  but  scarce  collecting  his 
scattered  senses  sufficiently  to  comprehend  the  meaning  of 
his  zealous  and  partial  friend. 

"  For  her,  a  full  confession — let  me  assure  you  !"  added 
Mrs.  Tetherly,  with  a  look  over  her  shoulder  as  she  rose 
(for  Sir  John  had  taken  her  hand  at  the  moment  to  lead 
her  to  the  piano),  "but  au  revoir  f  and  more  of  it  by-and- 
by.  She  is  alone,  at  this  moment,"  she  added,  pointing  to 
her  niece,  sitting  thoughtfully  at  an  open  window. 

But  Paul  was  not  equal  even  to  the  ordinary  effort  of 
conversation — much  less  to  the  difficult  exercise  of  tact 
and  delicacy  which  would  be  required  by  his  present 
position  toward  Miss  Ashly.  His  mind  and  heart,  in 
spite  of  all  struggle  of  judgment  and  principle  against 
it,  were  now  full  of  burning  thoughts  of  another.  To 
escape  from  looking  longer  upon  that  peerless  bride  was 


380  PAUL    FANE. 

the  present  prompting  of  his  conscience — the  cruel  need 
of  his  weakness  and  passion.  That  he  should  take  an 
early  and  unceremonious  leave,  with  the  morrow's  morn 
ing — never  again  to  see  Sybil  Paleford — Sybil  Ashly — if 
it  were  possible  to  be  avoided — he  resolved,  of  course ; 
but,  for  that  evening,  he  was  to  breathe  the  air  of 
bewildering  nearness  to  her,  and  to  be  included  in  the 
same  hospitality  ;  and,  that  night,  he  was  to  pass,  under 
the  same  roof  with  her  glorious  beauty,  in  all  its  encharit- 
ment — ay,  in  all  its  happiness !  And,  with  this  torture 
of  thought  crowding  on  soul  and  brain,  with  anguish  too 
intolerable  to  be  concealed,  he  needed  darkness  around 
him.  The  unwitnessing  or  unrevealing  stars  were  the  only 
company  he  could  bear. 

Like  a  far-extended  floor  of  the  drawing-room,  the 
closely-shaven  lawn  of  Raven-Park  extended  away,  its 
limits  lost  in  the  wilderness  of  thickets  and  noble  trees ; 
and,  from  shadow  to  shadow  of  the  leafy  breaks  in  the 
moonlight,  Paul  now  wandered,  thanking  God  to  be  alone. 
The  night  was  soft  and  breathlessly  still.  The  music  of 
the  electric  fingers  of  his  friend,  pouring  from  the  open 
windows,  was  audible  in  its  mellowed  and  best  effect 
throughout  the  grounds.  He  was  conscious,  at  last,  of 
being  soothed  by  this  continued  and  unseen  ministration ; 
and  seating  himself  upon  the  railing  of  a  bridge  over  a 
serpentine  stream — the  outlet  to  a  sheet  of  artificial  water 


PAUL    FANE.  381 

on  the  edge  of  the  lawn — he  gave  his  thoughts  up  to  the 
music. 

But,  a  sudden  fear  began  to  take  possession  of  Paul's 
nervously  excited  brain.  Surely  she  would  not  play  that 
romance !  Would  not  common  pity — would  not  instinct 
— would  not  the  guardian  angels  on  the  watch — Sybil's 
mother — Heaven  in  its  mercy — prevent  the  wakening  of 
that,  now? 

She  who  was  at  this  moment  bewitching  the  formal 
air  of  Raven-Park,  was  no  ordinary  player.  Paul  had 
caught,  for  her  portrait,  the  expression  of  the  rapt  genius 
that  found  its  way  to  the  ivory  keys  through  her  nervous 
and  pliant  fingers.  But  her  inspiration  did  not  find  vent 
alone  in  following  the  music-thoughts  of  the  great  masters. 
She  was  an  improvisatrice  upon  the  instrument — the  pulses 
of  her  brain  not  more  effortless  than  the  strings,  in  the  life 
they  drew  from  her.  Her  playing  was  usually  capricious. 
For  indifferent  listeners  it  would  be  oftenest  a  melange — • 
the  airs  of  operas,  old  songs,  waltzes,  and  any  chance- 
remembered  compositions,  woven  together.  To  those  she 
loved,  however,  and  to  whom  she  played  confidentially, 
it  was  a  pouring  out  of  her  own  heart  in  an  irregular 
improvisation — varying,  according  to  her  mood,  but 
oftenest  rising,  toward  the  close,  into  the  most  passionate 
utterance  of  the  feeling  so  long  chained  within  her. 


382  PAUL    FANE. 

The  overflowing  heart,  locked  and  frozen  for  half  a  life 
under  the  ice  of  her  reserve,  thus  found  a  voice. 

But  she  would  sometimes  take  a  theme — giving  the 
hint  of  a  story,  she  would  tell  it  afterwards  in  music.  And 
of  this  more  sympathetic  and  descriptive  improvisation, 
both  Paul  and  Sybil  Paleford  had  been  exceedingly  fond, 
in  the  days  they  had  passed  together  at  Florence — one 
strange  romance,  particularly,  possessing  for  them  a  singu 
lar  fascination,  though  it  was  seldom  given  but  at  the  last 
hour  by  the  excited  player,  and  with  feelings  wholly  aban 
doned  to  the  theme.  It  represented  a  love,  timid  in  its 
waking,  but  strengthening  without  the  chance  for  an 
avowal,  and  growing,  by  suppression,  into  madness — based 
upon  a  German  story  of  great  wildness  and  beauty.  The 
exchange  of  feeling  that  had  never  been  made  in  words, 
by  Paul  and  Sybil,  had  been  passed  and  repassed  between 
them,  on  that  music's  electric  magnetism,  in  eloquence  of 
fire ! 

The  player,  as  Paul  now  recognized,  was  becoming 
gradually  unconscious  of  listeners.  By  the  flitting  forms 
passing  to  and  fro  between  himself  and  the  windows,  he 
could  see  that  the  company  had  been  enticed  out  upon  the 
lawn  by  the  loveliness  of  the  night;  and  Mrs.  Tetherly, 
left  alone  in  the  room,  had  probably  abandoned  herself 
to  the  witchery  of  the  instrument.  It  was  changefully 


PAUL     FANE.  383 

expressive  of  reverie — sad  for  a  moment  or  two,  then 
strong  or  brilliant;  but,  at  last  (and  it  TV  as  this  which  had 
startled  Paul  with  such  sudden  alarm),  hovering  with 
evident  absent-mindedness  over  the  commencement  of  the 
German  story.  To  the  touching  and  melancholy  air  that 
ran  through  it  she  made  a  dreamer's  capricious  approaches, 
now  rushing  upon  it  by  an  unmistakable  note  or  two,  then 
turning  off  with  some  whim  of  variation,  as  if  abruptly 
forgetful  of  what  she  had  thought  to  play.  Would  she, 
indeed,  venture  upon  it  ?  Would  she  not  remember  that 
there  might  be  a  heart  beating  within  sound  of  those  ivory 
keys,  whose  secret,  whose  dumb  sad  prisoner,  it  would 
drive  wild  in  its  cell  ? 

But,  as  Paul  stood,  risen  to  his  feet,  and  listening  with 
the  alarm  of  nervous  expectation,  a  flowing  figure  in  w7hite 
came  with  uncertain  movement  toward  the  shadow  of  the 
gigantic  willow  overhanging  the  bridge.  At  the  step  with 
which  she  crossed  the  line  of  shade  made  upon  the  broad 
lawn  by  the  clump  of  trees  nearest  to  him — emerging  sud 
denly  into  the  radiant  light  of  the  clear  full  moon — he 
saw  that  it  was  the  bride.  She  came  alone.  Yet  how 
unlike  herself,  as  he  had  seen  her  in  that  drawing-room,  a 
half  hour  before !  Her  head  was  bent  low,  as  if  to  be 
blind  to  the  bright  night  around  her,  and,  with  fingers 
tightly  interlocked,  the  palms  of  her  hands  were  turned 
downwards  with  convulsive  struggle  before  her.  The  air 


384  PAUL     FANE. 

of  stateliness  and  repose  was  no  longer  there.  With 
shoulders  drawn  forward,  and  face  unseen  in  its  depressed 
turning  from  the  moon,  there  was  only  her  bridal  wreath 
with  its  glittering  pearls,  to  make  certain  that  it  was 
she. 

Hid,  himself,  in  the  dark  shadow  of  the  drooping 
branches  that  fell  like  a  curtain  around  him,  Paul  checked 
the  impulse  to  speak  and  warn  her  of  his  neighborhood — 
but,  on  that  instant  of  stillness,  burst  suddenly  the  clear 
melody  of  the  dreaded  romance !  It  began  with  a  mourn 
ful  and  sustained  sweetness — a  love-telling  which  they  had 
both  declared  wholly  irresistible.  The  bride  started  and 
looked  back.  Imploringly  and  tenderly  the  wondrous  wail 
of  the  lover's  unheard  prayer  rose  upon  the  stillness.  She 
lifted  her  head  more  eagerly  to  listen.  Another  advancing 
step,  to  place  her  hand  upon  the  railing  of  the  bridge,  and 
Paul's  voice  broke  the  silence.  It  was  her  name  only — 
her  new  name — uttered  with  the  instinctive  impulse  that 
he  had  no  right  to  leave  her  longer  unaware  of  his  pres 
ence.  But,  with  a  single  start  of  surprise,  and  a  syllable — 
the  one  sweet  syllable  he  had  never  thought  to  hear  from 
her  lips  again — his  own  familiar  name — the  step  with 
which  he  was  about  to  pass  and  leave  her  to  her  solitude 
was  arrested. 

She  looked  into  his  face  for  one  moment — the  wild 
notes  rose  upon  the  air  with  the  despairing  madness  of  the 


PAUL     FANE.  385 

lover — the  .madness  of  which  they  had  both  learned  to 
interpret  the  musical  intensity  of  expression — and,  with  a 
short  quick  scream,  but  with  terrible  suddenness  and 
vehemence,  she  flung  her  arms  about  his  neck.  One  close 
clasp — one  more  utterance,  each  of  the  other's  name — and 
the  form  within  his  bewildered  hold  began  to  weigh  upon 
his  arms.  The  head  fell  aside  insensibly.  Approaching 
feet  told  him  that  the  scream  had  been  heard  over  the 
lawn.  A  fleck  of  moonlight  streamed  down  through  the 
branches  upon  the  pale  features  and  closed  eyes.  One 
long  look — one  maddening,  clinging  kiss  to  her  insensible 
lips — and,  laying  her  gently  down  where  the  coming 
friends  would  find  her,  Paul  fled  into  the  darkness.  The 
grove  and  its  deep  shadows,  beyond  the  lawn,  received 
him.  He  could  not,  even  for  aid  to  her,  meet  human 
faces.  To  be  alone — alone,  with  his  own  wicked,  but  oh  ! 
delirious  joy  of  madness — out-frenzying,  in  its  passionate 
intensity,  even  the  madness  of  the  music — he  felt  to  be  his 
thirst,  with  that  kiss  upon  his  lips.  The  night  was  short. 
The  moon  set  upon  the  woods  of  Raven-Park,  and  the  sun 
rose,  in  what,  to  that  wondering  guest,  were  but  successive 
moments. 

With  the  opening  of  the  doors  by  the  servants,  Paul 

passed  to  his  room ;  and,  leaving  a  hurried  note  of  apology 

and  farewell,  which  Tetherly  would  make    acceptable  to 

their  host,  but  promising  to  his  friend  a  better  explanation 

17 


386  PAUL     FANE. 

of  his  sudden  departure  when  they  should  meet,  he  was,  in 
a  few  minutes,  alone  on  his  way  to  London. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

IT  was  a  month  after  the  vtsit  to  Raven-Park,  and  Lon 
don,  though,  to  the  out-door  observer,  as  crowded  as  ever, 
was,  according  to  the  Court  Journal,  "  quite  empty."  The 
Ashlys,  among  others,  who  had  "the  old  place"  to  go 
down  to,  were  "  down  in  the  country ',"  and  Tetherly,  by 
every  mail  or  two,  was  writing  urgently  to  his  friend  Fane, 
to  accept  the  invitation  to  the  great  family  gathering  at 
Ashly  Hall,  and  thus  join  him  for  a  few  weeks  of  hunting, 
shootinjr,  and  Christmas-ike.eping. 

But  Paul  was  busy  -with  a  purpose  which  he  had  not  yet 
communicated  to  his  friends  the  Jetherlys.  He  was  pre 
paring  to  return  to  his  own  country :;  -and  the  completion  of 
the  various  professional  commissions  -w^i-eh,  with  his  nearly 
two  years  in  England,  had  largely  .acoupulated  on  his 
hands,  occupied  his£kae,$o  fully  that  he  could  very  easily 
plead  a  pressure  of  engagements,  ^s  >tl}e  'thought  of 
home  grew  upon  him,  even  a  contemplated  :trip  -to  JParis, 
tio  take  his  leave  of  the  most  intimate  friend  ho  had 


PAUL      FANE.  3S7 

in  Europe,  the  Princess  C ,  was  reluctantly  abandoned. 

He  wrote  to  her,  instead.  And,  to  that  letter — (simply  an 
adieu  of  grateful  friendship,  with  which  it  is  not  necessary 
to  detain  the  reader) — the  following  was  her  characteristic 
reply : — 

PARIS,  — — , -. 

MY  DEAR  FANE  : 

The  sadness  at  the  news  of  your  letter,  is  so  struggling  for 
the  present  with  my  resentment  at  your  not  coming  to  say  adieu  to 
us,  that  I  am  doubting  whether  this  will  turn  out  a  scolding  or  a 
farewell.  I  can  scarce  see  to  write,  for  the  tears  that  are  in  such 
a  silly  hurry  to  forgive  you — but  how  dreadfully  unkind  and  hard 
hearted  of  you,  to  think  of  going  without  a  word  of  good-bye !  Is 
it  quite  safe,  do  you  think,  to  commit  yourself  to  the  retributive 
ocean  with  a  sin  of  such  enormity  on  your  shoulders  ? 

But  why  do  you  go '?  I  know  little  of  your  country,  except 
what  I  have  learned  from  common  opinion  (and  an  occasional  talk 
with  Mary  Evenden  and  Mrs.  Cleverly),  but  it  seems  to  me  that 
you  are  much  more  in  your  proper  place  where  you  are.  The  sta 
tue  should  not  return  to  its  quarry,  my  friend !  If  there  were  any 
great  question  at  stake — any  call  on  your  patriotism — it  might  be 
different.  Were  the  "  stars  and  stripes  "  in  danger,  or  were  your 
countrymen  likely  to  starve  or  become  paganized,  without  you, 
there  might  be  reason  in  flying  home  to  turn  your  pencil  into  a 
sword,  or  your  palette  into  a  loaf  of  bread  or  a  Bible.  America 
is,  still,  pretty  free,  I  hear  however ;  and  plenty  to  eat  for  every 
body;  and  no  one  has  any  occasion  to  continue  a<  sinner,  there, 
except  from  pure  choice,  and  in  the  exercise  of  his  republican  lib 
erty  !  So,  why  desert  the  temple  where  your  genius  has  its  fitting 


388  P  A  U  L      F  A  N  fi  . 

pedestal,  to  go  back  to  the  cave  where  at  best  you  will  only  serve 
your  country  by  seeming  as  patriotically  unhewn  as  the  stones 
around  you. 

Observe,  I  mean  no  disparagement  to  America !  The  greatest 
heroes  of  Europe  began  as  babies  (I  have  always  understood) ; 
and  previous  to  theijr  great  achievements  and  glory,  had  worn  the 
unmentionable  varieties  of  raiment  rendered  necessary  by  the 
early  stage  of  their  progressive  manners.  History,  of  course,  will 
give  your  infant  republic  the  usual  century  or  two  of  cradle-rocking 
and  nurse-needing — passing  over  in  silence,  or  without  coming  to 
particulars,  everything  except  the  great  infantine  epochs,  the 
national  weaning,  rash,  measles,  and  vaccination.  And  (seriously), 
that  there  are  great  elements  maturing  under  the  rough  surface — 
great  seed  germinating  among  the  weeds  which  America  has  had  no 
time  as  yet  to  eradicate — I  fully  believe.  Pray  consider  me  as 
paying  all  honor  to  your  transatlantic  probabilities  ! 

To  return  to  yourself — it  is  not  altogether  the  price  you  are  to 
receive  for  your  pictures — not  that,  iior  even  the  quantity  of 
renown  with  it — that  is  to  make  you  happy,  my  dear  Fane !  For 
an  artist  of  your  quality,  most  particularly,  there  must  be  discri 
minating  appreciation  in  the  very  atmosphere.  You  must  be  con 
scious  of  appreciative  eyes,  always  waiting  for  what  you  do.  Call 
it  vanity,  if  you  please,  but  inspiration  faints  for  lack  of  praise 
from  judicious  lips.  And  are  you  to  have  this  (for  your  Europe- 
trained  pencil),  in  a  country  of  no  leisure  ?  With  nothing  but 
hurry  and  money-making  around  you,  are  you  to  feel  sympathy,  or 
breathe  freely  ? 

Yet,  you  will  gol  Oh,  I  have  moulded  too  often  the  quiet  lines 
of  your  very  complying-looking  mouth,  not  to  know  that  there  is 
a  will  of  steel  within  the  velvet  scabbard.  You  will  go — and  I 


PAULFANE.  389 

shall  not  see  you  first — for  so  you  have  made  up  your  mind — but, 
one  word  as  to  the  more  yielding  heart  you  are  to  take  with  you, 
after  all !  It  will  be  more  at  home  than  your  pencil  in  America — 
indeed,  the  less  play  for  the  genius  the  more  for  the  heart,  is  a 
"  Q.  E.  D."  in  the  mathematics  of  love. 

Mary  Evenden  has  been  with  me,  as  you  know,  for  nearly  two 
years.  I  need  not  tell  you  how  well  I  have  studied  her,  in  that 
time.  She  was  a  new  book  of  Nature  to  me,  and  I  learned  her  by 
heart.  The  wonder  that  she  was! — a  most  lovely  creature,  with  a 
consciousness  in  the  brain  only !  a  woman  whose  heart  beat  to  her 
intellect  alone !  We  have  studied  beauty  together,  as  nothing  but 
sculpture  can  well  teach  it.  But  she  herself  being,  as  I  say,  an 
intense  study  to  me,  I  have  seen  the  gradual  deepening  of  her 
character  with  her  sense  of  beauty — and  its  warm  sunshine  (let 
me  tell  you)  has  been  tinting  the  leaves  of  a  heart  yet  to  flower. 
The  forgotten  woman  within  that  symmetry  of  sleeping  Ariadne  is 
ready  to  awake.  She  must  love  soon — and  with  a  new-blown 
though  belated  freshness  and  fulness  that  will  give  a  noon  with 
the  dew  of  morning.  Are  you  curious  enough  in  your  knowledge 
of  our  sex  to  see  the  value  of  a  phenomenon  so  rare  ? 

And  yet  you  came  so  near  one  of  those  loves  of  instinct,  to 
which  genius,  at  least,  should  be  the  exception !  Miss  Paleford — 
how  beautiful  she  was! — how  noble ! — how  romantically  proud  and 
pure!  Yet  she  forgot  you — (with  not  much  time  either!) — and 
for  a  man  who  was  not  much  to  be  forgotten  for !  Would  Mary 
Evenden,  with  her  soul  first  wrapped  up  in  your  genius,  wake,  at 
last,  to  your  lovableness  as  a  man,  and  then  forget  you  in  a  year ! 
You  see  what  I  wish  to  foreshadow  for  you.  Mrs.  Cleverly  goes 
eoon  home  to  America,  and  Mary  with  her.  Watch  this  fair  girl, 


390  PAUL     FANE. 

my  dear  Fane !    and  wake,  for  yourself,  the  love  that,  half-won 
already,  dreams  of  you  unconsciously  while  it  slumbers. 

It  is  for  me  that  your  departure  is  the  saddest.     America  is  far 
off,  and  it  will  be  long  before  you  return  to  Europe — if  ever.     I 
shall  not  see  you  again  in  this  world,  or  I  shall  see  you  when  I  am 
old  and  changed.     And  it  were  not  because  you  had  ever  posi 
tively  thought  me  to  be  beautiful,  that  this  latter  alternative  were 
painful,  but  because  the  memory  beautifies  with  time  and  absence, 
and  we  do  not  even  meet  with  the  eyes  with  which  we  parted — 
expecting  more,  besides  not  having  seen  the  reconciling  gradations 
with  which  there  has  become  less.     Spite  of  the  most  loyal  attach 
ment — the  most  faithful  constancy — you  would  not  see  me,  after 
ten  years  or  twenty,  without  wondering  (vexed  with  yourself,  per 
haps,  that  you  were  compelled  to  do  so)  how  you  had  ever  paid 
the  homage  to  me  which  you  still  remembered — how  the  ideal 
which  you  had  so  long  cherished,  and  which  had  thus  suddenly 
vanished,  never  to  return,   had  possibly  found  form  and  color ! 
For  I  have,  thus  far,  contrived  to  charm  your  eye,  I  know  very 
well ;  and  I  should  continue  to  charm  it,  were  you  not  absent  long. 
Part,  however,  though,  it  appears,  we  must  (and,  if  for  more 
than  a  year  or  two,  I  would  rather  it  should  be  for  ever),  we  have 
something  even  more  precious  to  preserve  than  the  hope  of  meet 
ing  again — the  memory,  my  dear  Paul,  of  a  friendship  irreproach 
able  !     I  began,  thinking  it  would  not  be  so,  I  confess.     My  life,  as 
you  know,  is  all  darkness  within,  as  it  is  all  sunshine  without ;  and 
the  forbidden  moonlight  I  had  dreamed  of  was  in  your  tenderness 
of  looks  and  ways.     But  as  your  mind  gradually  elevated  the  tone 
of  courtesy  between  us,  overruling  and  correcting  the  first  super 
ficial  fascination  of  your  manners  and  person,  I  found  reverence 


PAUL     FANE.  391 

for  woman  among  the  graces  that  had  pleased  me.  I  was  hedged 
about,  for  you,  with  the  sacred  circle  of  puritj — of  the  light  of 
which  I  had  been  (God  forgive  me!)  ready  to  be  forgetful.  It 
was  necessary  to  be  still  pure,  to  be  so  thought  of  still.  And  this, 
to  me,  was  the  renewal  of  a  dream ! 

Yes,  for  I  had  begun  life  with  romantic,  but  sinless  friendship 
for  my  vision  of  happiness — the  sacrifice  of  name  and  hand  for 
court  policy  and  fortune,  but  the  belief  that  I  was  thus  free  of 
control,  and  could  choose  where  I  would  for  a  pure  interchange  of 
heart.  I  went  on  trustingly.  I  tried  many  of  your  sex — less  and 
less  joyfully  or  believingly,  each  one — and  when  we  first  met,  you 
and  I,  it  was  a  long  dream,  well-nigh  over.  I  was  weary  of  making 
friends,  finding  them  unworthy,  and  rejecting  them.  Though  sur 
prised  into  an  irresistible  preference  and  tenderness  for  you,  I  felt 
no  confidence  in  the  nature  of  the  return. 

"Ah,  with  a  deference  like  yours — tempting  a  woman  to  be  only 
what  she  wills  to  be — most  of  my  sex  would  run  little  risk !  I  knew 
your  nature — its  passion,  and  its  adventurousness — and  that  the 
world  to  you  was  new,  and  to  be  well  tried.  A  word  from  my  lips 
would  have  broken  the  spell,  I  was,  many  a  moment,  tremblingly 
aware.  But  there  was  ever  between  us  that  unseen  wall  of  ada 
mant — your  honoring  deference,  your  blind  belief  in  me — and, 
with  unblemished  memories  of  each  other,  thank  God !  we  are 
parting  now ! 

I  have  now  confessed  to  you,  I  repeat,  what  an  experiment  this 
has  been  to  me — an  experiment  as  to  you,  but  no  less  as  to  myself. 
Pursuits  and  tastes  in  sympathy — opportunities  without  restraint — 
incidental  circumstances  in  the  situation  of  both  facilitating  an 
intimacy — and  (I  may  say  now)  yourself,  for  lovableness,  quite 


392  PAUL     FANE. 

unsurpassed  in  my  knowledge  of  men— it  was  an  ordeal  study  of 
your  standard  of  woman,  as  it  was  of  the  strength  to  be  true  to  it, 
in  my  own  soul.  Through,  oh,  what  temptation  and  passion  I  was 
to  represent,  for  you,  that  standard's  unsullied  brightness !  There 
were  times  (we  may  remember  them  if  we  are  to  meet  no  morel) 
when  the  heart  seemed  too  human  for  the  test.  I  have  driven  into 
the  marble  with  my  chisel,  when  at  work,  with  you  by  my  side, 
many  an  impulse,  that,  with  but  one  nerve  unguarded,  would  have 
flung  the  inspiration  around  your  neck  !  I  saw  your  own  thought 
— the  rally  against  your  own  share  of  the  moment's  trial,  in  the 
curve  of  the  trembling  lip,  that  still  told  of  your  honor  for  woman. 
My  triumph  was  in  it !  I  was  strong  again.  And  I  know,  now, 
thank  God !  that  there  may  be  friendship  sweet  and  pure,  even 
though  the  wild  love  that  might  embitter  it  has  stood  near  and 
ready. 

But  the  curtain  has  dropped  upon  our  drama,  at  last.  We  retire, 
to  hat  and  shawl  ourselves  like  other  people,  and  take  our  common 
way  upon  the  sidewalk,  with  the  crowd.  Though  our  audience  of 
hopes  and  fears  is  dispersed,  however — the  lights  out,  and  the 
orchestra  vocal  no  longer — let  us  keep  the  interest  of  the  play 
under  our  own  shut  eyelids,  for  a  dream  and  a  memory !  You  will  be 
to  me,  always,  the  unsuspected  hero  of  my  most  trying  life-drama. 
Let  me  be  something,  to  you,  longer  remembered  than  the  foot- 
lamps  that  are  to  burn  for  us  no  more !  Let  me  be  to  you,  as  you 
will  certainly  be  to  me,  a  romance  of  the  past. 

For  news — I  have  a  statue  of  Egeria  in  model,  that  I  had  thought 
you  were  to  see.  Its  inspiration  will  be  wanting,  I  fear,  now  that 
you  are  to  be  gone  when  it  is  finished.  I  worked  so  much  better 
with  the  thought  of  your  sweet  earnest  eyes  over  my  shoulder ! 


PAULFANE.  393 

But,  farewell,  my  dear  Paul !  I  would  write  these  tears  into  my 
parting  words,  if  I  knew  how.  My  heart  follows  you,  believe  me  ! 
May  God  bless  you ! 

Yours,  with  affectionate  devotion, 

Q 

P.  S.  Mary  Evenden  has  come  in  before  my  letter  was  sealed. 
She  sends  her  love  to  you,  with  a  message.  Mrs.  Cleverly,  hearing 
of  your  proposed  departure,  wishes  to  go  home  (she  and  Mary) 
under  your  kind  care.  This  is  only  to  inform  you  of  her  intention. 
She  will  write  to  you,  herself,  as  to  the  arrangements  for  the 
voyage,  the  joining  you  in  London,  etc.,  etc. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

THE  delay  of  Paul's  voyage  homeward,  in  consequence 
of  Mrs.  Cleverly's  intention  of  taking  passage  with  him, 
weighed  heavily  on  his  already  depressed  spirits.  It  would 
have  been  a  mere  trifle  at  any  other  time  to  be  thus 
detained ;  but,  with  his  labors  completed,  and  a  couple  of 
weeks  of  comparative  leisure  on  his  hands,  there  was  awk 
wardness  in  still  excusing  himself  from  a  flying  visit,  at 
least,  to  Ashly  Hall.  He  might  have  run  over  to  Paris,  to 
accompany  his  friends  to  England ;  but  the  letter  of  the 
princess  (written  on  the  supposition  that  sho  WMS  to,  s,ee 
17* 


394  PAUL    FANE. 

him  no  more)  had  a  kind  of  obituary  tenderness,  after 
which  he  felt  a  delicacy  in  again  making  his  visible 
appearance  to  her.  Overworked  with  the  completion  of 
his  professional  commissions,  and  his  pencil,  of  course,  dis 
tasteful  as  a  refuge  from  depression — London  November* 
ish,  and  his  acquaintances  and  friends  out  of  town — he 
was  fr.irly  driven  to  the  wall  by  his  melancholy.  In  this 
extremity  of  mood,  one  foggy  and  dull  morning,  he  closed 
the  shutters  upon  the  imperfect  struggles  of  the  sun  to 
make  a  day,  lighted  his  candles,  and  had  recourse  to  his 
one  habitual  comfort  when  all  else  failed — the  society  of 
his  mother.  With  the  world  shut  out,  he  thus  opened  his 
heart  to  her : 

LONDON, . 

MY  DEAREST  MOTHER  : 

You  are  thinking  of  me  to-day,  I  know,  as  half-way  across 
the  water.  I  was  to  have  sailed  a  fortnight  ago  (as  I  wrote 
you),  and  should  have  been  happy  indeed  to  do  so,  but  for  Mrs. 
Cleverly's  delays  at  Paris.  She  and  Mary  are  to  come  with  me, 
and  the  good  lady's  milliners  and  dress-makers,  I  suppose,  have 
been  less  prompt  than  her  kindnesses.  Boston  is  to  be  kept  aston 
ished  for  a  year  or  two,  of  course,  with  the  fashions  she  brings 
home — the  tribute  to  the  magnificent  great  heart  that  beats  under 
her  "latest  fashion,"  being  as  little  thought  of  by  herself,  as  it  is 
by  the  goodness-blind  world  she  cares  only  to  dazzle. 

I  shall  be  with  you  soon,  however,  God  willing.     And,  I  am  very 
certain,  it  will  bo  to  leave  you  no  more !     Once  at  home  again, 


PAUL     FANE.  395 

and,  with  the  lessons  I  have  learned,  I  shall  be  like  the  caterpillar 
who  has  made  a  chance  flight  on  a  balloon — not  very  impatient 
even  for  the  elevation  with  my  own  wings  as  a  butterfly.  I  have 
been  out  of  reach  of  the  dew  of  your  tears,  and  of  the  soft  moss 
and  violets  of  your  every  day's  love,  dearest  mother ! 

Of  course  I  am  not  so  much  of  a  child  as  to  run  prematurely 
home,  leaving  my  manhood's  errand  of  ambition  unperformed.  If 
it  were  better  for  my  development  of  genius  to  remain  longer  in 
Europe — one  year  or  twenty — I  would  choke  down  the  homesick 
ness  now  busy  in  my  throat,  I  am  sure  you  will  believe.  But,  very 
deliberately,  and  looking  at  it  from  all  points  of  view,  I  think  my 
own  country  is  my  mind's  native  air.  After  trying  its  lungs  in  the 
perfumed  atmospheres  of  Europe — (and  trying  them,  I  confess,  by 
arts  of  inhalation  not  elsewhere  to  be  learned,  and  necessary  for 
their  full  trial  of  expansibility) — I  find  my  American  soul  and 
brain,  as  well  as  my  American  heart,  taste,  and  temper,  pining  for 
America  to  breathe  in. 

I  have  had  success  in  Europe — in  England  more  particularly — 
to  my  full  deserving,  I  am  very  free  to  own.  But,  when  I  think 
to  what  I  half  or  wholly  owe  it,  I  would  rather  bury  all  but  the 
lesson !  It  is  not  to  myself,  nor  to  my  pencil,  that  I  owe  what  I 
may  call  my  present  prosperous  reputation.  I  owe  it  mainly  to 
adventitious  causes — causes  to  whose  aid  and  kindness  I  am  pro 
perly  grateful,  of  course,  but  to  which  I  would  rather  not  be  longer 
indebted.  I  have  painted  many  pictures,  and  for  "  noble  "  sitters. 
And  to  paint  on,  and  for  the  same  class  of  "  patrons,"  looks  more  and 
more  possible,  every  day.  I  have  found  it  easy  to  continue  at  the 
level  upon  which  I  began  my  English  recognition  and  appreciation. 
But  I  began  where  I  never  could  have  reached  by  my  own  merit 
only.  I  came  with  court  introductions  which  were  wholly  unpro- 


396  PAUL     FANE. 

fessional  and  accidental — dining  with  dukes  and  marquises,  and 
then  patronized  as  an  artist  for  having  been  their  guest.  My 
zealous  friends  were  all  aristocrats,  and  they  have  brought  aris 
tocracy  to  sit  to  me. 

And  what  better  would  I  have  ? — perhaps  you  ask,  dearest 
mother!  Till  you  have  thought  of  it — perhaps  till  you  have  tried 
it — this  would  seem  happiness  enough.  And  I  scarce  think  I  shall 
be  successful  in  explaining  to  you,  even  now,  why  such  "  bread 
and  butter"  is  to  be  "  quarrelled  with." 

To  be  appreciated  below  my  present  level,  seems  to  me  the 
liberty  I  want.  And  this,  with  the  false  lustre  of  my  present  false 
position,  I  should,  at  least,  never  believe  myself  to  be.  To  pass 
up  from  one  stratum  of  society  to  another,  in  this  country,  is  dif 
ficult  enough.  My  republican  pride  would  have  fretted  at  that,  if 
I  had  not  chanced,  as  the  proverb  has  it,  "  to  come  in  at  a  win 
dow."  But  to  be  ever  honestly  at  home,  on  the  stratum  below 
where  you  have  once  been  conspicuous  or  acknowledged,  is  quite 
as  difficult.  You  are  looked  at  through  the  eyes  of  your  grand 
acquaintances,  by  all  whom  those  acquaintances  look  down  upon. 
Whatever  might  have  been  their  decision  as  to  your  merit,  if  you 
could  have  appealed  to  it  without  influence  or  favor,  it  is  insepa 
rable  from  illusion,  as  it  is.  And  so  naturally  does  it  seem  to  be  a 
result  of  aristocratic  institutions — the  making  each  class  take  its 
tastes  and  estimates  of  talent  from  the  class  above — that  there  is 
almost  no  such  thing  as  individual  and  independent  opinion.  They 
think  by  classes.  They  believe  in  you  by  recommendation  of 
higher  authority  than  their  own  judgment. 

Perhaps  it  is  the  instinct  for  my  natural  level,  that  makes  me 
yearn  for  the  appreciation  of  those  who  are  not  "grand  folks" — 
not  lordships  and  ladyships.  But  while  condescension  or  patronage 


PAUL     FANE.  397 

makes  tinsel  of  the  admiration  it  bestows,  the  admiration  is  even 
more  untruthful  and  unworthy  which  is  paid  from  servility,  and 
prompted  by  obsequious  imitation.  There  are  exceptions,  no 
doubt,  to  this  subserviency  to  rank,  but  I  have  not  found  them. 
Following  my  longing  for  holier  sympathy,  I  have  again  and  again 
picked  out  Nature's  nobility  from  the  middle  class — gifted,  refined, 
and  apparently  high-hearted,  men  and  women,  such  as  I  wished 
for  friends — and  my  disappointment  has  been  thus  far  invariable. 
More  than  for  all  else,  I  found  myself  valued  for  my  familiar 
acquaintance  with  great  people. 

But,  while  this  looks  as  if  high  life  in  England  were  the  most 
appreciative  of  Art — as  if  court  air,  on  the  whole,  were  the  most 
natural  element  of  genius — there  are  conditions,  even  to  the 
enjoyment  of  this,  which,  to  republican  lungs,  make  it  quite 
unbreathable.  I  have  been  astonished  to  know  that  some  of  the 
most  eminent  men  of  genius,  here,  never  think  of  taking  their 
wives  into  the  society  they  frequent.  Artists  and  authors — names 
known  the  world  over — go  nightly  to  the  parties  of  the  nobility, 
and  stay  at  the  country-houses  of  their  great  acquaintances,  leav 
ing  at  home  wives  and  daughters  who  are  uninquired  after  and 
unthought  of.  It  is  looked  upon  as  a  very  convenient  and  proper 
economy  for  the  usual  poverty  of  a  man  of  genius ;  and  they 
number  it  among  the  refinements  of  good-breeding  to  practise  a 
"  delicacy  on  such  subjects  " — inquiring  neither  into  the  extent  of 
an  artist's  or  author's  wardrobe,  nor  into  the  family  or  debts  with 
which  he  may  chance  to  be  encumbered. 

I  am  coming  home,  dearest  mother,  to  be  happy  in  American 
liberty — the  liberty  not  only  of  sinking  to  where,  by  the  laws  of 
specific  gravity,  I  belong,  but  of  being  looked  at,  after  I  get  to 


398  PAUL    FANE. 

that  level,  through  one  pair  of  eyes  at  a  time.  The  liberty  to  rise, 
or  the  liberty  to  fall,  and,  at  any  level,  to  be  judged  of  by  the 
simple  individual  opinion,  without  class  condescension,  class  Servil 
ity,  or  class  prejudice,  seems  to  me  to  be  American  only.  TJic 
hell  of  social  life,  and  of  all  life,  is  false  position — I  am  fully  per 
suaded — and,  in  England,  an  artist,  at  least,  can  have  nothing  else. 
But  I  have  suid  enough  of  this.  You  will  think  the  London  fog, 
from  which  I  fled  to  pen  and  ink,  has  overtaken  me ! 

And  now,  with  my  head  upon  your  lap,  what  else  shall  I  confess 
to  you,  dear  mother? 

My  heart,  as  well  as  my  pride  and  my  pencil,  has  had  its  lessons 
since  I  left  you.  It  has  been  instructive  to  all  three  "to  see  the 
world."  I  have  been  beloved,  and  I  have  loved ;  and  I  come 
home,  not  only  without  a  wife,  but,  for  preference,  very  much 
where  I  started.  I  despair  of  ever  being  loved  by  one  woman  for 
all  that  I  should  wish  to  be  loved  for.  Only  a  corner  seems  to  be 
wanted  in  the  house  of  which  we  offer  the  whole.  Those  who 
have  shown  partiality  for  me,  hitherto,  have  done  so  for  such  dif 
ferent  reasons !  One  loved  me  for  my  appreciative  discrimination 
and  flattery  of  portrayal,  and,  her  I  changed  into  a  friend;  one, 
for  the  proof  I  had  chanced  to  give  of  qualities  of  character  she 
thought  rare  (and,  by  her  final  preference,  I  was  repaid  for  a  long 
remembered  scorn) ;  one  for  my  personal  magnetism,  felt  only 
when  near,  and  her  (loving  her  most  of  all,  and  wildly  and  pas 
sionately  I  shame  to  say!)  I  helped  give  to  the  bridegroom  now 
happy  with  her ;  and  there  was  a  fourth  who  has  confessed  to 
a  sacred  friendship  for  me  that  might  have  been  love,  and  this 
last  precious  tribute  was  to  you — for  what  I  had  learned  of  you — 
for  my  honor  of  woman  and  my  never-wavering  deference  of  belief 


PAUL     FANE.  399 

in  her.  Then  there  was  Mary  Evenden,  who,  when  I  started  on 
this  triple  pilgrimage  (of  heart,  pride,  and  pencil),  loved  me  for 
my  genius  only — and  who  loves  it  still,  or  more  (and  that  only), 
now  that  we  return  together — and  for  her  I  felt  no  passion  at 
home,  and  I  feel  none  now.  Yet  with  my  sad  knowledge  of  the 
incompleteness  of  all  love,  I  should  be  happiest,  perhaps,  with 
what  she  would  not  fail  me  in.  I  have  a  presentiment  sometimes 
— reasoning  upon  it  only,  and  with  the  pulse  of  my  heart  shut 
down — that  the  mind's  love  (if  there  must  be  one  quality  among 
many  to  be  alone  valued  and  appreciated),  is  the  best  worth  secu 
ring  and  living  for.  She  would  begin  with  it,  at  least — our  pure, 
sweet  Mary ! 

So  much  for  the  heart  and  pride  I  bring  home  to  you.  My 
pencil,  I  think,  will  return  also,  to  breathe  in  its  native  air  more 
freely.  The  architecture  of  the  great  temple  of  Art  is  undoubtedly 
more  complete  on  this  side  the  water.  But,  while,  in  it,  one  artist 
is  but  a  brick — bricks  sustaining  him  below,  but  immovable  bricks 
pressing  on  him  from  above — in  America  he  is  the  tent  pitched  in 
the  desert,  with  the  sunshine  and  air  all  around  him.  I  feel  the 
want  of  this  singleness  and  free  fame.  Genius  develops  here,  and 
is  rewarded,  by  schools — a  gregariousness  of  effort  and  dependence 
which  (for  me,  certainly)  smothers  all  hope  of  individuality  and  fire. 
Though  I  know  I  have  improved  in  the  knowledge  and  dexterities 
of  Art,  while  abroad,  I  wait  till  I  get  home  for  the  inspiration  to 
conceive  what  shall  be  only  my  own,  and  achieve  in  it  a  triumph. 
Republican  air  must  loose  the  blood  in  my  now  fettered  wrist  and 
brain. 

I  will  keep  my  letter  open,  to  add  to  it  any  news  I  may  get  to 
morrow,  as  to  our  voyage  and  movements.  Perhaps  I  may  have 


400  PAULFANE. 

need  to  turn  over  another  leaf  of  my  sadness,  for  your  kind  reading, 
if  kept  longer  in  suspense.  For  to-day,  however,  farewell,  and,  that 
God  may  preserve  you  to  bless  once  more  these  weary  eyes,  prays 
fervently,  dearest  mother,  your  affectionate 

PAUL. 

A  postscript  to  the  foregoing  letter  announced  the 
arrival  in  London  of  Mrs.  Cleverly  and  Mary,  and  the 
date  of  their  proposed  embarkation  for  the  voyage. 
Contrary  to  Paul's  wishes,  his  friends  the  Tetherlys 
became  aware  of  his  intention  to  steal  off  thus  quietly, 
and,  by  Mrs.  Cleverly's  delays,  they  were  enabled  to 
hear  of  him  as  still  in  London,  after  his  written  fare 
well.  They  came  down  to  Liverpool  from  Ashly  Hall, 
to  bring  him  the  kind  adieux  of  Miss  Mildred  and  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Arthur  Ashly,  and  to  see  the  last  of  him  on 
the  English  shore.  But,  by  both  of  them,  it  was  a 
farewell  hard  to  utter.  By  him  it  was  still  harder  to 
receive  and  respond  to.  The  leaning  of  the  ship  to 
the  pressure  of  the  fair  wind,  and  the  last  waving  of 
the  hands,  as  the  returning  pilot-boat  took  those  two 
dear  friends  from  his  sight,  was  a  relief  to  a  heart 
overburdened. 


PAULFANK.  401 

With  the  close  of  that  voyage,  and  the  return  of 
the  American  artist,  Mr.  Paul  Fane,  from  Europe,  we 
come  upon  that  part  of  his  history  that  is  already 
known.  The  entrance  upon  his  profession,  after  his 
few  years  of  foreign  study  and  travel,  was  naturally 
the  earliest  point  at  which  Fame,  in  his  own  country, 
would  recognise  his  career,  and,  with  that,  commences 
commonly  what  knowledge  of  him  is  now  upon  men's 
lips.  His  adoption  o(  a  style  of  Art  peculiarly  his 
own,  his  doubtful  success  for  a  while,  his  marriage 
to  Miss  Mary  Evenden,  and  his  struggles  with  poverty 
and  misappreciation  (her  love  and  completeness  of 
sympathy  forming  the  whole  sunshine  of  his  life,  to 
himself,  as  it  did  its  most  visible  beauty  and  poetry 
to  the  eyes  of  others) — all  this  is  in  hearsay  while 
he  is  living,  and  (should  his  pictures  live  after  him) 
likely  to  be  written  of,  by-and-by.  There  were  appren 
ticeships  little  understood,  however — trainings  of  his 
heart  and  pride,  as  well  as  of  his  pencil — which,  the 
author  has  thought  it  might  be  curious  to  tell.  This 
book  hao  accordingly  confined  itself  to  those  secret 
mouldings  of  his  genius  and  character  "  which  were 
else  untold ;"  but,  by  the  reader's  acquaintance  with 
which,  he  will  be  enabled  to  comprehend  the  impulses 
to  Fane's  artistic  career  and  style,  as  well  as  the 


402  PAUL     FANE. 

motives  for  some  peculiarities  in  his  life  and  manners. 
If  it  has  not  turned  out  to  be  as  much  of  a  "romance" 
as  was  expected,  it  is  because  the  real  life,  of  this  our  day, 
faithfully  pictured,  seldom  is. 


THE       END. 


BOOKS   PUBLISHED    BY    (JHAS.    SCEIBNER. 


An  Important  National  Work. 


CYCL.OPKDIA  OF  AMERICAN  LITERATURE: 

Embracing  Personal  and  Critical  Notices  of  Authors,  and  Selections  from  their  "Writings, 
from  the  earliest  period  to  the  present  day.  By  E.  A.  DUYCKIXCK  and  GEORGE  L. 
DUYCKINCK.  2  Vols.,  8vo.  With  225  Portraits,  425  Autographs,  and  75  Views  of  Col 
leges,  Libraries,  and  Residences  of  Authors,  and  elegant  Steel  Engravings  or  James 
Fennimore  Cooper  and  Benjamin  Franklin.  $7  00.  In  half  calf,  $10  00.  Morocco 
Extra,  $16  00. 

THE  whole  is   included  in   two   royal   octavo  volumes,  in   all  1,500  pages,  printed   on 

superfine  paper,  from  new  type,  cast  expressly  for  the  work. 

The  engravings  are  from  original  and  authentic  sources,  and  the  portraits  of  many 
of  the  authors  are  now  for  the  first  time  presented  to  the  public. 

The  work  is  arranged  in  chronological  order,  and  treats  fully  of  the  great  colonial 
period,  containing  full  specimens  of  the  early  historic,  poetical,  and  social  literature  in 
all  parts  of  the  country.  It  also  embraces  a  great  variety  of  matter  now  first  brought 
together,  relating  to  the  era  of  the  Revolution,  including  a  new  collection  and  arrange 
ment,  of  Revolutionary  Ballads. 

It  includes  illustrations  of  the  Pulpit,  the  Bar,  and  other  Professional  Writers,  of  the 
Political  Oratory,  the  Educational  Institutions,  and 

THE   GENERAL  LITERATURE   OP  THE   COUNTRY. 

The  Personal  Biography  is  full  and  minute,  and  the  selections  comprehend  a  large 
portion  of  the  best  Literature  of  America.  The  latter  are  made  particularly  with  refer 
ence  to  their  completeness  and  to  their  permanent  historical  interest,  and  display  every 
variety  of  talent  from  every  portion  of  the  country.  In  this  respect  the  work  (the  con 
tents  of  which  will  equal  six  ordinary  octavo  volumes)  may  be  regarded  as  no  incon 
siderable 

AMERICAN  LIBRARY  IN  ITSELF. 

From  Washington  Irvinff,  Esq. 

"It  would  be  difficult  to  speak  too  highly  of  the  value  to  the  student  of  American  litera 
ture  of  a  work  which  brinqrs  together,  in  two  ample  volumes,  so  much  rare  and  scattered 
information,  concerning  the  authors  of  our  country,  and  enables  him,  in  one  comprehen 
sive  glance,  to  grasp  the  degree  and  forms  of  her  mental  progress  and  development. 
The  work  is  executed  with  marked  ability,  and  evinces  the  fine  culture,  critical  insight, 
and  amiable  spirit  for  which  the  Me«sr«.  Dnyckinck  are  so  favorably  knoiyn.  I  commend 
it  most  heartily  to  the  reading  public,  for  T  conKiflfr  it  not  merely  a  desideratum,  but, 
in  some  soft,  a  necessity,  to  every  well-furnished  American  library." 

From  George  Bancroft,  Esq. 

"The  '  Cyclopedia  of  American  Literature'  is  one  of  the  most  remarkable  productions 
which  have  appeared  from  the  American  press.  As  an  instance  of  the  affectionate 
cooperation  of  two  brothers,  it  is  al'nost  unexampled.  Both  of  the  Messrs.  Duyckinck 
are  distinguished  by  rare  talent;  both  are  indefatigable.  I  have  given  attention  chiefly 
to  the  first  volume,  and  find  it,  a  storehouse  of  information,  to  me  invaluable.  The  criti 
cal  skill  of  the  writers,  their  spirit  and  research,  their  candor  and  comprehensiveness,  ar«* 
admirable,  and  they  have  ~brouqlil  together  a  mass  of  interesting  matter,  which  no  in* 
quirer  can  dispense  with,  or  use  without  gratitude.'1'' 


CYCLOPEDIA    OF    AMERICAN    LITERATURE. 


From  George  TicTcnor,  Esq. 

"  It  is  the  only  work  worth  naming  on  American  Literary  History ;  and  I  am  much  pur- 
prised  that  the  Messrs.  Duyckinck  have  been  able  to  muster  at  once  so  numerous  an  array 
of  American  authors;  and  still  more,  that  they  should  have  collected  such  an  immense 
amount  of  facts,  small  and  great,  relating  to  persons  generally  so  little  known.  In  these 
respects,  it  is  certainly  a  very  remarkable  book,  and  does  its  authors  great  credit — for 
few  American  readers  can  open  it  without  finding  curious  or  interesting  matter  to 
attract  their  attention." 

From  Hon.  Edward  Everett. 

"  As  fnr  as  I  have  been  able  to  form  an  opinion,  it  is  an  extremely  valuable  publication, 
prepared  with  great  diligence  and  research,  and  executed  with  much  discretion  and 
ability.  On  the  only  occasion  which  I  have  had  to  consult  it,  for  a  practical  purpose,  I 
have  found  it  highly  satisfactory." 

From  Jared  Sparks,  Esq. 

"The  biographical  sketches  of  authors,  and  the  notices  of  their  various  compositions, 
give  evidence  of  a  thorough  research;  and  the  critical  remarks  indicate  aspirit  of  candor 
and  impartiality,  which  add  to  their  weight.  The  selections  are  various  and  instructive, 
as  illustrating  the  progress  of  thought  and  letters  in  this  country,  during  the  last  two  hun 
dred  years.  In  this  respect,  and  in  others,  the  work  has  a  historical  as  well  as  a  literary 
value,  and  is  adapted  to  the  instruction  and  entertainment  of  every  class  of  readers^ 

From  the  N^ortli  American  Review. 

"We  cannot  too  highly  commend  the  spirit  in  which  the  extensive  find  laborious  work 
before  us  has  been  conceived  and  executed.  The  chastened  taste  and  familiar  knowledge 
of  the  scholar  are  visible  in  the  whole  design ;  while  in  treating  of  contemporaneous  sub 
jects,  the  true  instinct  of  the  gentleman  is  equally  discernible The  value 

of  the  Cyclopedia  consists  primarily  in  the  abundance,  reliableness,  and  interest  of  the 
facts  relating  to  the  intellectual  development  of  the  country,  for  the  first  time  collated, 
arranged,  and  illustrated  in  these  volumes.  They  will  become  indispensable  for  refer 
ence." 

From  Putnam's  Monthly. 

"American  literature  has  found  a  complete  and  felicitous  chronicle  in  these  volumes. 
The  editors  have  brought  to  its  preparation  an  enlightened  love  of  letters,  rare  personal 
accomplishments,  a  genial  antiquarian  enthusiasm,  and  untiring  fidelity  and  patience  of 
research.  It  is  remarkable  for  the  compactness  with  which  it  crowds  the  different  epochs 
of  our  literature  into  a  comprehensive  space,  without  falling  into  a  meagre  and  unfruitful 
brevity.  In  turning  over  its  leaves,  we  are  often  tempted  to  stop  and  admire  the  ingenu 
ity  of  the  editors,  who  have  been  able  to  impart  such  a  rich  variety  of  incidental  literary 
information,  besides  the  leading  notices  which  appropriately  introduce  the  selections  from 
various  authors. 

"Tracing  the  progress  of  intellectual  culture  in  this  country,  from  the  first  dawn  of 
literature  among  the  Puritan  exiles,  to  the  latest  productions  of  the  present  day,  it  ex 
hibits  a  complete  map,  or  rather  a  finished  miniature  sketch  of  the  development  and  per 
formances  of  American  talent  in  the  field  of  letters." 

From  the  Knickerbocker  Magazine. 

"It  displays  immense  research,  carried  up  to  the  very  sources  of  American  literature; 
much  curious  investigations  into  regions  not  easily  accessible  to  the  general  reader. 
*  *  *  It  is  not  so  much  a  cyclopedia  as  a  biographical  dictionary,  full  of  interest,  con 
taining  extensive  records  of  literature  during  two  centuries  in  the  North  American  colo 
nies  and  States.  The  sketches  of  lives  are  succinctly  and  often  admirably  done." 

From  the  Church  Journal. 

"  No  portion  of  the  country,  and  no  school  of  its  writers,  is  passed  over  in  silence,  or 
slighted  in  treatment.  With  calm,  equal,  careful,  and  affectionate  impartiality,  all  have 
their  place ;  the  best  points  and  qualities  of  each  are  brought  out, ;  the  selections  and 
specimens  of  their  work  are  the  most  piquant  and  characteristic ;  and  a  feeling  of  unity  is 
given  to  the  whole,  which,  to  a  true  American,  is  delightfully  gratifying." 


BOOKS   PUBLISHED   BY   CHAS.    SCRIBNER. 


Headley's  Illustrated  Life  of  Washington. 


THE   LIFE    OF    GEORGE    WASHINGTON. 

BYJ.  T.  HE  AD  LEY, 

AUTHOR  OF  "  WASHINGTON  AND  HIS  GENERALS,"   "  NAPOLEON  AND  HIS  MARSHALS." 

1  vol.,  Svo.,  with  Forty-two  full  page  Engravings  from  Original  Designs.    Price,  $3  00. 

FROM  PREFACE. — "  My  design  is  to  popularize  the  life  of  Washington,  by  confining 
myself  to  events  and  incidents  intimately  connected  with  him  and  his  movements,  and 
thus  make  the  work  less  voluminous  than  it  would  he  if  it  embraced  a  more  detailed  his 
tory  of  concurrent  events.  Recent  collections  of  documents  throwing  new  light  on  the 
"War  of  the  Revolution  make  such  a  work  desirable.  All  of  Rufus  Putnam's  papers  and 
correspondence,  and  diary  have  also  been  put  into. my  hands,  which  shed  an  entirely  new 
light  on  some  of  the  most  interesting  events  of  the  Revolution,  and  movements  of  Wash 
ington.  The  reader  will  therefore  find  a  vast  number  of  facts  in  this  work  which  have 
never  before  appeared  in  any  life  of  Washington,  but  which  add  greatly  to  the  interest 
which  surrounds  his  character." 

NINE  SUPERB   STEEL  ENGRAVINGS. 

Portrait  of  Washington,  from  an  Original  Painting  by  Stuart,  Portrait  of  Washington 
at  the  age  of  forty,  from  an  Original  Painting.  Washington  crossing  the  Alleghany. 
Putnam  receiving  the  Intelligence  of  the  Battle  of  Lexington.  Lafayette's  last  Interview 
with  Louis  Sixteenth  and  Marie  Antoinette,  before  his  departure  for  America.  Washing 
ton  at  Valley  Forge.  Mercer  mortally  wounded  at  Princeton.  Capture  of  Major  Andre. 

THIRTY-TWO  ELEGANT  (FULL  PAGE)  WOOD  ENGRAVINGS. 
Washington  and  his  Mother.  Death  of  Jumonville.  Defeat  of  Braddock.  Burial  of 
Braddock.  Planting  of  the  Royal  Flag  on  the  Ruins  of  Fort  Duquesne.  Chairing  Colo 
nel  Wood  as  proxy  for  Washington.  Washington's  Weddinjr.  Washington  dragging  the 
Poacher  Ashore.  Descending  the  Ohio.  Christening  the  Liberty  Tree.  Duche's  Prayer 
in  Congress.  Scene  at  Stockbridge,  on  receiving  news  of  the  Biittle  of  Lexington.  The 
Bellman  informed  of  the  Passage  of  the  Declaration  of  Independence.  Knox  entering 
Camp  with  Artillery.  Evacuation  of  Boston.  Tearing  down  the  Statue  of  George  III. 
Young  Callender  Fighting  his  Gun.  Washington  endeavoring  to  rally  the  Fugitives. 
Quaker  Lady  detaining  the  English  General.  Washington  and  Captain  Forest  inquiring 
for  the  Hessian  Picket.  Washington  at  Princeton.  Countrymen  joining  the  Army  under 
Gates.  Night  Attack  at.  Paoli.  Washington  urging  the  Countryman  to  greater  speed. 
Abandoning  the  Vessels  at  Gloucester.  Attack  on  Fort  Mimin.  Moll  Pitcher  at  Mon- 
mouth.  Washington  and  Lee  at  Monmouth.  Washington  taking  leave  of  the  Army 
Washington  at  the  Death-bed  of  young  Custis.  Washington  taking  leave  of  his  Mother. 
Washington  as  a  Farmer. 

"  Mr.  Headley's  peculiarities  as  nn  author  are  universally  known.  He  is  one  of  the 
most  vigorous  and  spirit-stirring  writers  of  the  day." — N".  Y.  Courier  &  Enquirer. 

"His  descriptions  are  graphic,  his  history  correct,  and  his  summing  up  of  character 
scarcely  suffers  by  comparison  with  similar  pages  in  Tacitus." — N.  Y.  Evening  Post. 

"  He  speaks  heartily,  earnestly,  truthfully,  and  the  warm  heart  answers  to  his  voice." — 
N.  Y. 


GEORGE    P.    MORRIS'S    POETICA1    WORKS.  19 


3Snrris's  ^nrtiral  ttfnrks,  Cmnplrt*. 


With  Thirteen  Superb  Engravings,  from  Original  Designs  by  TVeir  and 
Barley,  and  a  Portrait  of  the  Author,  by  the  late  Henry  Inman.  Ele 
gantly  printed  on  fine  vellum  paper.  1  vol.,  8vo.,  cloth,  full  gilt,  $5  ; 
morocco,  extra,  $7. 

The  world-wide  popularity  of  many  of  these  exquisite  songs  and  poems,  which  have 
become  household  words  in  almost  every  palace  and  cottage,  will,  the  publisher  is  confi 
dent,  insure  for  this— ike  only  complete  edition  of  the  author's  poems— the  largest  circu 
lation. 

"We  know  of  none  who  have  written  more  charmingly  than  Geo.  P.  Morris.  He  is, 
indeed,  the  poet  of  home  joys.  None  have  described  more  eloquently  the  beauty  and 
dignity  of  true  affection — of  passion  based  upon  esteem;  and  his  fame  is  certain  to 
endure  while  Anglo-Saxon  woman  has  a  hearthstone  over  which  to  repeat  her  most  cher 
ished  household  words."— Eraser's  London  Magazine. 

"This  author  understands  better  than  any  other  poet  in  the  country  the  subtle  and 
invisible  links  which  connect  words  with  music." — National  Intelligencer. 

"  The  writings  of  the  author  of  '  Woodman  Spare  that  Tree,'  are  familiar  to  ev*ry 
reader.  They  are  now,  for  the  first  time,  brought  within  the  reach  of  tiie  public  in  a 
collected  form." — Pennsylvania. 

"  This  book  will  be  the  admiration  of  every  one  who  a  lm.:vs  w  lot  is  beautiful  to  tho 
eye,  or  graceful  to  a  refined  and  cultivated  taste."  -Al^tnj  Argus. 

"  This  magnificent  volume  is  an  honor  to  American  literature." — Aurora. 

"This  book  is  the  gem  of  the  season." — Herald. 

"  The  character  of  these  poems  is  well  and  widely  known — they  possess  a  high  degree 
of  merit,  and  the  elements  of  a  wide  and  enduring  popularity." — Tribune. 


THE   IDLER    OF   THE   ALPS, 

OK,   PYNNSHURST  AND   HIS   WANDERINGS 

BY  DONALD    MACLEOD. 
1  vol.,  12mo.,  cloth,    Price  $1  25. 

"We  have  certainly,  since  Thackeray,  had  no  such  pleasant  tourist;  incidents,  adven 
tures,  comic  as  well  as  serious,  anecdotes,  descriptions,  poetry,  and  satire,  are  most  happily 
intermingled,  and  the  result  is  as  delightful  a  volume  for  a  summer  day  or  a  winter  even 
ing,  as  we  have  seen  for  a  long  time." — Philadelphia  Evening  Bulletin. 

"This  is  an  eminently  clever  and  readable  work,  which,  we  venture  to  predict,  will 
at  once  secure  its  author  a  distinguished  place  among  American  writers.  It  is  a  fine  tissue 
of  humor,  wit,  and  adventure,  pathos  and  description,  woven  into  just  enough  of  acting 
and  moving  story  to  create  a  lively  interest." — Graham's  Magazine. 


Mil.    WILLIS'S 

COMPLETE    PROSE    WORKS. 

In  12  volumes  12»io.,  cloth,  price  per  set,  $15.     S<>ld  separately,  at  $1  25 
eacli.    In  sets  in  12  volumes,  neat  half  cnlf,  $24. 

I. — Rural    Letters,  and    other    Records  of  Thoughts   at 
Leisure. 

Embracing:  Letters  from  under  a  Bridge,  Open- Air  Musings  in 
the  City,  Invalid  Rambles  in  Germany,  Letters  from  Watering 
Places,  &c.,  &c. 

ii. — Life  Here  and  There ; 

Or,  Sketches  of  Society  and  Adventures  at  Far-Apart  Times 
and  Places. 

in. — Famous  Persons  and  Places. 

IV. — Fun  Jottings; 

Or,  Laughs  I  have  Taken  a  Pen  To. 

v. — People  I  Have  Met; 

Or,  Pictures  of  Society  and  People  of  Mark.  Drawn  under  a 
Thin  Veil  of  Fiction, 

vi. — Pencillings  by  the  Way. 
vn. — A  Summer  Cruise  in  the  Mediterranean,  on  board  of 

an  American  Frigate, 
vni. — The  Rag  Bag. 

A  Collection  of  Ephemera. 

ix. — Hurrygraphs ; 

Or,  Sketches  from  Fresh  Impressions  of  Scenery,  Celebrities 
and  Society. 

MR.  WILLIS'S  LATEST  WRITINGS. 

i. — Out  Doors  at  Idlewild ; 

Or,  The  Shaping  of  a  Home  on  the  Banks  of  the  Hudson. 
"  A  simple  weaving  into  language  of  the  every -day  circumstances 
of  an  invalid  retirement  in  the  Highlands  of  the  Hudson,  written  in 
fetters  to  the  JJonie  Jownnl,  and  it  was  expected  that  they  would 
owe  their  interest  to  being  plainly  truthful,  and  to  picturing  exactly 
the  life  that  formed  itself  around  the  new-comer  to  one  particular 
portion  of  our  country — its  climate,  its  conveniences,  its  access. bil- 
ities,  and  its  moral  and  social  atmosphere.  As  it  is  a  neighborhood 
to  which  the  sick  are  often  sent  by  the  physicians  of  New  York,  for 
the  nearest  mountain  air,  which  is  completely  separated  from  ths 
seaboard,  the  author  has  thought  it  might  add  a  utility  to  his  book 
to  give  his  invalid  experience  with  the  rest-.  In  this  feature  of  it  ha 
has  aimed  to  serve  his  fellow-suffjrers.'1— Alztf/'aci from  Preface. 

xi. — A  Health  Trip  to  the  Tropics. 

"Mr.  AVillis  has  exceeded  himself m  his  descriptions  of  his  trip  to 
the  delightful  tropical  regions — a  most  delicious  repose  steals  over 
you  as  you  read.  You  cannot  imagine  that  he  is  an  invalid,  and  if 
one  yourself  he  soon  makes  you  think  you  are  one  no  longer.  His 
pictures  of  the  Bermuda  Islands  are  perfect,,  and  there  are  mingled 
through  them  the  most  valuable  facts,  lessons,  and  suggestions." — 
Albany  tiptclator. 

xii. — Paul  Fane; 

Or,  Parts  of  a  Life  Else  Untold. 


•v 


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